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UP FROM SLAVERY: An Autobiography

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON

A Penn State Electronic Classics Series Publication

Up from Slavery: An Autobiography by Booker T. Washington is a publication of the Pennsyl- vania State University. This Portable Document file is furnished free and without any charge of any kind. Any person using this document file, for any purpose, and in any way does so at his or her own risk. Neither the Pennsylvania State University nor Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, nor anyone associated with the Pennsylvania State University assumes any responsi- bility for the material contained within the document or for the file as an electronic trans- mission, in any way.

Up from Slavery: An Autobiography by Booker T. Washington, the Pennsylvania State Univer- sity, Electronic Classics Series, Jim Manis, Faculty Editor, Hazleton, PA 18201-1291 is a Por- table Document File produced as part of an ongoing student publication project to bring classical works of literature, in English, to free and easy access of those wishing to make use of them.

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The Pennsylvania State University is an equal opportunity university.

Booker T. Washington

Up From Slavery: An Autobiography

Booker T. Washington

This volume is dedicated to my Wife Margaret James Washington

And to my Brother John H. Washington Whose patience, fidelity, and hard work have gone far

to make the work at Tuskegee successful.

Preface

T his volume is the outgrowth of a series of articles,

dealing with incidents in my life, which were pub

lished consecutively in the Outlook. While they were

appearing in that magazine I was constantly surprised at

the number of requests which came to me from all parts

of the country, asking that the articles be permanently

preserved in book form. I am most grateful to the Out-

look for permission to gratify these requests.

I have tried to tell a simple, straightforward story, with

no attempt at embellishment. My regret is that what I

have attempted to do has been done so imperfectly. The

greater part of my time and strength is required for the

executive work connected with the Tuskegee Normal and

Industrial Institute, and in securing the money necessary

for the support of the institution. Much of what I have

said has been written on board trains, or at hotels or

railroad stations while I have been waiting for trains, or

during the moments that I could spare from my work

while at Tuskegee. Without the painstaking and generous

UP FROM SLAVERY

assistance of Mr. Max Bennett Thrasher I could not have

succeeded in any satisfactory degree.

Introduction

T he details of Mr. Washington’s early life, as frankly

set down in “Up from Slavery,” do not give quite a

whole view of his education. He had the training

that a coloured youth receives at Hampton, which, in-

deed, the autobiography does explain. But the reader does

not get his intellectual pedigree, for Mr. Washington him-

self, perhaps, does not as clearly understand it as another

man might. The truth is he had a training during the most

impressionable period of his life that was very extraordi-

nary, such a training as few men of his generation have

had. To see its full meaning one must start in the Hawai-

ian Islands half a century or more ago.* There Samuel

Armstrong, a youth of missionary parents, earned enough

money to pay his expenses at an American college. Equipped

with this small sum and the earnestness that the under-

taking implied, he came to Williams College when Dr. Mark

Hopkins was president. Williams College had many good

things for youth in that day, as it has in this, but the

greatest was the strong personality of its famous presi-

dent. Every student does not profit by a great teacher;

but perhaps no young man ever came under the influence

of Dr. Hopkins, whose whole nature was so ripe for profit

by such an experience as young Armstrong. He lived in

the family of President Hopkins, and thus had a training

that was wholly out of the common; and this training had

much to do with the development of his own strong char-

acter, whose originality and force we are only beginning

to appreciate.

In turn, Samuel Armstrong, the founder of Hampton

Institute, took up his work as a trainer of youth. He had

very raw material, and doubtless most of his pupils failed

to get the greatest lessons from him; but, as he had been

a peculiarly receptive pupil of Dr. Hopkins, so Booker Wash-

*For this interesting view of Mr. Washington’s education, I am indebted to Robert C. Ogden, Esq., Chairman of the Board of Trustees of Hampton Institute and the intimate friend of General Armstrong during the whole period of his educational work.

Booker T. Washington ington became a peculiarly receptive pupil of his. To the

formation of Mr. Washington’s character, then, went the

missionary zeal of New England, influenced by one of the

strongest personalities in modern education, and the wide-

reaching moral earnestness of General Armstrong himself

These influences are easily recognizable in Mr. Washington

to-day by men who knew Dr. Hopkins and General

Armstrong.

I got the cue to Mr. Washington’s character from a very

simple incident many years ago. I had never seen him,

and I knew little about him, except that he was the head

of a school at Tuskegee, Alabama. I had occasion to write

to him, and I addressed him as “The Rev. Booker T. Wash-

ington.” In his reply there was no mention of my address-

ing him as a clergyman. But when I had occasion to write

to him again, and persisted in making him a preacher, his

second letter brought a postscript: “I have no claim to

‘Rev.’” I knew most of the coloured men who at that time

had become prominent as leaders of their race, but I had

not then known one who was neither a politician nor a

preacher; and I had not heard of the head of an important

coloured school who was not a preacher. “A new kind of

man in the coloured world,” I said to myself—”a new

kind of man surely if he looks upon his task as an eco-

nomic one instead of a theological one.” I wrote him an

apology for mistaking him for a preacher.

The first time that I went to Tuskegee I was asked to

make an address to the school on Sunday evening. I sat

upon the platform of the large chapel and looked forth on

a thousand coloured faces, and the choir of a hundred or

more behind me sang a familiar religious melody, and the

whole company joined in the chorus with unction. I was

the only white man under the roof, and the scene and the

songs made an impression on me that I shall never forget.

Mr. Washington arose and asked them to sing one after

another of the old melodies that I had heard all my life;

but I had never before heard them sung by a thousand

voices nor by the voices of educated Negroes. I had asso-

ciated them with the Negro of the past, not with the

Negro who was struggling upward. They brought to my

mind the plantation, the cabin, the slave, not the freed-

man in quest of education. But on the plantation and in

UP FROM SLAVERY

the cabin they had never been sung as these thousand stu-

dents sang them. I saw again all the old plantations that I

had ever seen; the whole history of the Negro ran through

my mind; and the inexpressible pathos of his life found

expression in these songs as I had never before felt it.

And the future? These were the ambitious youths of the

race, at work with an earnestness that put to shame the

conventional student life of most educational institutions.

Another song rolled up along the rafters. And as soon as

silence came, I found myself in front of this extraordinary

mass of faces, thinking not of them, but of that long and

unhappy chapter in our country’s history which followed

the one great structural mistake of the Fathers of the

Republic; thinking of the one continuous great problem

that generations of statesmen had wrangled over, and a

million men fought about, and that had so dwarfed the

mass of English men in the Southern States as to hold

them back a hundred years behind their fellows in every

other part of the world—in England, in Australia, and in

the Northern and Western States; I was thinking of this

dark shadow that had oppressed every large-minded states-

man from Jefferson to Lincoln. These thousand young men

and women about me were victims of it. I, too, was an

innocent victim of it. The whole Republic was a victim of

that fundamental error of importing Africa into America.

I held firmly to the first article of my faith that the Re-

public must stand fast by the principle of a fair ballot;

but I recalled the wretched mess that Reconstruction had

made of it; I recalled the low level of public life in all the

“black” States. Every effort of philanthropy seemed to

have miscarried, every effort at correcting abuses seemed

of doubtful value, and the race friction seemed to become

severer. Here was the century-old problem in all its pa-

thos seated singing before me. Who were the more to be

pitied—these innocent victims of an ancient wrong, or I

and men like me, who had inherited the problem? I had

long ago thrown aside illusions and theories, and was will-

ing to meet the facts face to face, and to do whatever in

God’s name a man might do towards saving the next gen-

eration from such a burden. But I felt the weight of twenty

well-nigh hopeless years of thought and reading and ob-

servation; for the old difficulties remained and new ones

Booker T. Washington had sprung up. Then I saw clearly that the way out of a

century of blunders had been made by this man who stood

beside me and was introducing me to this audience. Be-

fore me was the material he had used. All about me was

the indisputable evidence that he had found the natural

line of development. He had shown the way. Time and

patience and encouragement and work would do the rest.

It was then more clearly than ever before that I under-

stood the patriotic significance of Mr. Washington’s work.

It is this conception of it and of him that I have ever

since carried with me. It is on this that his claim to our

gratitude rests.

To teach the Negro to read, whether English, or Greek,

or Hebrew, butters no parsnips. To make the Negro work,

that is what his master did in one way and hunger has

done in another; yet both these left Southern life where

they found it. But to teach the Negro to do skilful work,

as men of all the races that have risen have worked,—

responsible work, which IS education and character; and

most of all when Negroes so teach Negroes to do this that

they will teach others with a missionary zeal that puts all

ordinary philanthropic efforts to shame,—this is to change

the whole economic basis of life and the whole character

of a people.

The plan itself is not a new one. It was worked out at

Hampton Institute, but it was done at Hampton by white

men. The plan had, in fact, been many times theoretically

laid down by thoughtful students of Southern life. Handi-

crafts were taught in the days of slavery on most well-

managed plantations. But Tuskegee is, nevertheless, a

brand-new chapter in the history of the Negro, and in the

history of the knottiest problem we have ever faced. It

not only makes “a carpenter of a man; it makes a man of

a carpenter.” In one sense, therefore, it is of greater value

than any other institution for the training of men and

women that we have, from Cambridge to Palo Alto. It is

almost the only one of which it may be said that it points

the way to a new epoch in a large area of our national life.

To work out the plan on paper, or at a distance—that is

one thing. For a white man to work it out—that too, is

an easy thing. For a coloured man to work it out in the

South, where, in its constructive period, he was necessar-

UP FROM SLAVERY

ily misunderstood by his own people as well as by the

whites, and where he had to adjust it at every step to the

strained race relations—that is so very different and more

difficult a thing that the man who did it put the country

under lasting obligations to him.

It was not and is not a mere educational task. Anybody

could teach boys trades and give them an elementary edu-

cation. Such tasks have been done since the beginning of

civilization. But this task had to be done with the rawest

of raw material, done within the civilization of the domi-

nant race, and so done as not to run across race lines and

social lines that are the strongest forces in the commu-

nity. It had to be done for the benefit of the whole com-

munity. It had to be done, moreover, without local help,

in the face of the direst poverty, done by begging, and

done in spite of the ignorance of one race and the preju-

dice of the other.

No man living had a harder task, and a task that called

for more wisdom to do it right. The true measure of Mr.

Washington’s success is, then, not his teaching the pupils

of Tuskegee, nor even gaining the support of philanthropic

persons at a distance, but this—that every Southern white

man of character and of wisdom has been won to a cordial

recognition of the value of the work, even men who held

and still hold to the conviction that a mere book educa-

tion for the Southern blacks under present conditions is a

positive evil. This is a demonstration of the efficiency of

the Hampton-Tuskegee idea that stands like the demon-

stration of the value of democratic institutions them-

selves—a demonstration made so clear in spite of the

greatest odds that it is no longer open to argument.

Consider the change that has come in twenty years in

the discussion of the Negro problem. Two or three de-

cades ago social philosophers and statisticians and well-

meaning philanthropists were still talking and writing about

the deportation of the Negroes, or about their settlement

within some restricted area, or about their settling in all

parts of the Union, or about their decline through their

neglect of their children, or about their rapid multiplica-

tion till they should expel the whites from the South—of

every sort of nonsense under heaven. All this has given

place to the simple plan of an indefinite extension among

Booker T. Washington the neglected classes of both races of the Hampton-

Tuskegee system of training. The “problem” in one sense

has disappeared. The future will have for the South swift

or slow development of its masses and of its soil in pro-

portion to the swift or slow development of this kind of

training. This change of view is a true measure of Mr.

Washington’s work.

The literature of the Negro in America is colossal, from

political oratory through abolitionism to “Uncle Tom’s

Cabin” and “Cotton is King”—a vast mass of books which

many men have read to the waste of good years (and I

among them); but the only books that I have read a

second time or ever care again to read in the whole list

(most of them by tiresome and unbalanced “reformers”)

are “Uncle Remus” and “Up from Slavery”; for these are

the great literature of the subject. One has all the best of

the past, the other foreshadows a better future; and the

men who wrote them are the only men who have written

of the subject with that perfect frankness and perfect

knowledge and perfect poise whose other name is genius.

Mr. Washington has won a world-wide fame at an early

age. His story of his own life already has the distinction of

translation into more languages, I think, than any other

American book; and I suppose that he has as large a per-

sonal acquaintance among men of influence as any pri-

vate citizen now living.

His own teaching at Tuskegee is unique. He lectures to

his advanced students on the art of right living, not out

of text-books, but straight out of life. Then he sends them

into the country to visit Negro families. Such a student

will come back with a minute report of the way in which

the family that he has seen lives, what their earnings are,

what they do well and what they do ill; and he will explain

how they might live better. He constructs a definite plan

for the betterment of that particular family out of the

resources that they have. Such a student, if he be bright,

will profit more by an experience like this than he could

profit by all the books on sociology and economics that

ever were written. I talked with a boy at Tuskegee who

had made such a study as this, and I could not keep from

contrasting his knowledge and enthusiasm with what I

heard in a class room at a Negro university in one of the

UP FROM SLAVERY

Southern cities, which is conducted on the idea that a

college course will save the soul. Here the class was recit-

ing a lesson from an abstruse text-book on economics,

reciting it by rote, with so obvious a failure to assimilate

it that the waste of labour was pitiful.

I asked Mr. Washington years ago what he regarded as

the most important result of his work, and he replied:

“I do not know which to put first, the effect of Tuskegee’s

work on the Negro, or the effect on the attitude of the

white man to the Negro.”

The race divergence under the system of miseducation

was fast getting wider. Under the influence of the Hamp-

ton-Tuskegee idea the races are coming into a closer sym-

pathy and into an honourable and helpful relation. As the

Negro becomes economically independent, he becomes a

responsible part of the Southern life; and the whites so

recognize him. And this must be so from the nature of

things. There is nothing artificial about it. It is develop-

ment in a perfectly natural way. And the Southern whites

not only so recognize it, but they are imitating it in the

teaching of the neglected masses of their own race. It has

thus come about that the school is taking a more direct

and helpful hold on life in the South than anywhere else in

the country. Education is not a thing apart from life—not

a “system,” nor a philosophy; it is direct teaching how to

live and how to work.

To say that Mr. Washington has won the gratitude of all

thoughtful Southern white men, is to say that he has

worked with the highest practical wisdom at a large con-

structive task; for no plan for the up-building of the freed-

man could succeed that ran counter to Southern opinion.

To win the support of Southern opinion and to shape it

was a necessary part of the task; and in this he has so well

succeeded that the South has a sincere and high regard

for him. He once said to me that he recalled the day, and

remembered it thankfully, when he grew large enough to

regard a Southern white man as he regarded a Northern

one. It is well for our common country that the day is

come when he and his work are regarded as highly in the

South as in any other part of the Union. I think that no

man of our generation has a more noteworthy achieve-

ment to his credit than this; and it is an achievement of

Booker T. Washington moral earnestness of the strong character of a man who

has done a great national service.

Walter H. Page.

UP FROM SLAVERY

Chapter I. A Slave Among Slaves

I was born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County,

Virginia. I am not quite sure of the exact place or

exact date of my birth, but at any rate I suspect I

must have been born somewhere and at some time. As

nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a

cross-roads post-office called Hale’s Ford, and the year

was 1858 or 1859. I do not know the month or the day.

The earliest impressions I can now recall are of the planta-

tion and the slave quarters—the latter being the part of

the plantation where the slaves had their cabins.

My life had its beginning in the midst of the most miser-

able, desolate, and discouraging surroundings. This was so,

however, not because my owners were especially cruel, for

they were not, as compared with many others. I was born

in a typical log cabin, about fourteen by sixteen feet square.

In this cabin I lived with my mother and a brother and

sister till after the Civil War, when we were all declared free.

UP FROM SLAVERY

Of my ancestry I know almost nothing. In the slave

quarters, and even later, I heard whispered conversations

among the coloured people of the tortures which the slaves,

including, no doubt, my ancestors on my mother’s side,

suffered in the middle passage of the slave ship while

being conveyed from Africa to America. I have been un-

successful in securing any information that would throw

any accurate light upon the history of my family beyond

my mother. She, I remember, had a half-brother and a

half-sister. In the days of slavery not very much attention

was given to family history and family records—that is,

black family records. My mother, I suppose, attracted the

attention of a purchaser who was afterward my owner and

hers. Her addition to the slave family attracted about as

much attention as the purchase of a new horse or cow. Of

my father I know even less than of my mother. I do not

even know his name. I have heard reports to the effect

that he was a white man who lived on one of the near-by

plantations. Whoever he was, I never heard of his taking

the least interest in me or providing in any way for my

rearing. But I do not find especial fault with him. He was

simply another unfortunate victim of the institution which

the Nation unhappily had engrafted upon it at that time.

The cabin was not only our living-place, but was also

used as the kitchen for the plantation. My mother was the

plantation cook. The cabin was without glass windows; it

had only openings in the side which let in the light, and

also the cold, chilly air of winter. There was a door to the

cabin—that is, something that was called a door—but

the uncertain hinges by which it was hung, and the large

cracks in it, to say nothing of the fact that it was too

small, made the room a very uncomfortable one. In addi-

tion to these openings there was, in the lower right-hand

corner of the room, the “cat-hole,” —a contrivance which

almost every mansion or cabin in Virginia possessed dur-

ing the ante-bellum period. The “cat-hole” was a square

opening, about seven by eight inches, provided for the

purpose of letting the cat pass in and out of the house at

will during the night. In the case of our particular cabin I

could never understand the necessity for this convenience,

since there were at least a half-dozen other places in the

cabin that would have accommodated the cats. There was

Booker T. Washington no wooden floor in our cabin, the naked earth being used

as a floor. In the centre of the earthen floor there was a

large, deep opening covered with boards, which was used

as a place in which to store sweet potatoes during the

winter. An impression of this potato-hole is very distinctly

engraved upon my memory, because I recall that during

the process of putting the potatoes in or taking them out

I would often come into possession of one or two, which

I roasted and thoroughly enjoyed. There was no cooking-

stove on our plantation, and all the cooking for the whites

and slaves my mother had to do over an open fireplace,

mostly in pots and “skillets.” While the poorly built cabin

caused us to suffer with cold in the winter, the heat from

the open fireplace in summer was equally trying.

The early years of my life, which were spent in the little

cabin, were not very different from those of thousands of

other slaves. My mother, of course, had little time in which

to give attention to the training of her children during

the day. She snatched a few moments for our care in the

early morning before her work began, and at night after

the day’s work was done. One of my earliest recollections

is that of my mother cooking a chicken late at night, and

awakening her children for the purpose of feeding them.

How or where she got it I do not know. I presume, how-

ever, it was procured from our owner’s farm. Some people

may call this theft. If such a thing were to happen now, I

should condemn it as theft myself. But taking place at

the time it did, and for the reason that it did, no one

could ever make me believe that my mother was guilty of

thieving. She was simply a victim of the system of slavery.

I cannot remember having slept in a bed until after our

family was declared free by the Emancipation Proclama-

tion. Three children—John, my older brother, Amanda,

my sister, and myself—had a pallet on the dirt floor, or,

to be more correct, we slept in and on a bundle of filthy

rags laid upon the dirt floor.

I was asked not long ago to tell something about the

sports and pastimes that I engaged in during my youth.

Until that question was asked it had never occurred to me

that there was no period of my life that was devoted to

play. From the time that I can remember anything, al-

most every day of my life had been occupied in some kind

UP FROM SLAVERY

of labour; though I think I would now be a more useful

man if I had had time for sports. During the period that I

spent in slavery I was not large enough to be of much

service, still I was occupied most of the time in cleaning

the yards, carrying water to the men in the fields, or

going to the mill to which I used to take the corn, once

a week, to be ground. The mill was about three miles from

the plantation. This work I always dreaded. The heavy bag

of corn would be thrown across the back of the horse, and

the corn divided about evenly on each side; but in some

way, almost without exception, on these trips, the corn

would so shift as to become unbalanced and would fall off

the horse, and often I would fall with it. As I was not

strong enough to reload the corn upon the horse, I would

have to wait, sometimes for many hours, till a chance

passer-by came along who would help me out of my trouble.

The hours while waiting for some one were usually spent

in crying. The time consumed in this way made me late in

reaching the mill, and by the time I got my corn ground

and reached home it would be far into the night. The road

was a lonely one, and often led through dense forests. I

was always frightened. The woods were said to be full of

soldiers who had deserted from the army, and I had been

told that the first thing a deserter did to a Negro boy

when he found him alone was to cut off his ears. Besides,

when I was late in getting home I knew I would always

get a severe scolding or a flogging.

I had no schooling whatever while I was a slave, though

I remember on several occasions I went as far as the school-

house door with one of my young mistresses to carry her

books. The picture of several dozen boys and girls in a

schoolroom engaged in study made a deep impression upon

me, and I had the feeling that to get into a schoolhouse

and study in this way would be about the same as getting

into paradise.

So far as I can now recall, the first knowledge that I got

of the fact that we were slaves, and that freedom of the

slaves was being discussed, was early one morning before

day, when I was awakened by my mother kneeling over her

children and fervently praying that Lincoln and his armies

might be successful, and that one day she and her chil-

dren might be free. In this connection I have never been

Booker T. Washington able to understand how the slaves throughout the South,

completely ignorant as were the masses so far as books or

newspapers were concerned, were able to keep themselves

so accurately and completely informed about the great

National questions that were agitating the country. From

the time that Garrison, Lovejoy, and others began to agi-

tate for freedom, the slaves throughout the South kept in

close touch with the progress of the movement. Though I

was a mere child during the preparation for the Civil War

and during the war itself, I now recall the many late-at-

night whispered discussions that I heard my mother and

the other slaves on the plantation indulge in. These dis-

cussions showed that they understood the situation, and

that they kept themselves informed of events by what

was termed the “grape-vine” telegraph.

During the campaign when Lincoln was first a candidate

for the Presidency, the slaves on our far-off plantation,

miles from any railroad or large city or daily newspaper,

knew what the issues involved were. When war was begun

between the North and the South, every slave on our plan-

tation felt and knew that, though other issues were dis-

cussed, the primal one was that of slavery. Even the most

ignorant members of my race on the remote plantations

felt in their hearts, with a certainty that admitted of no

doubt, that the freedom of the slaves would be the one

great result of the war, if the northern armies conquered.

Every success of the Federal armies and every defeat of

the Confederate forces was watched with the keenest and

most intense interest. Often the slaves got knowledge of

the results of great battles before the white people re-

ceived it. This news was usually gotten from the coloured

man who was sent to the post-office for the mail. In our

case the post-office was about three miles from the plan-

tation, and the mail came once or twice a week. The man

who was sent to the office would linger about the place

long enough to get the drift of the conversation from the

group of white people who naturally congregated there,

after receiving their mail, to discuss the latest news. The

mail-carrier on his way back to our master’s house would

as naturally retail the news that he had secured among

the slaves, and in this way they often heard of important

events before the white people at the “big house,” as the

UP FROM SLAVERY

master’s house was called.

I cannot remember a single instance during my child-

hood or early boyhood when our entire family sat down to

the table together, and God’s blessing was asked, and the

family ate a meal in a civilized manner. On the plantation

in Virginia, and even later, meals were gotten by the chil-

dren very much as dumb animals get theirs. It was a piece

of bread here and a scrap of meat there. It was a cup of

milk at one time and some potatoes at another. Some-

times a portion of our family would eat out of the skillet

or pot, while some one else would eat from a tin plate

held on the knees, and often using nothing but the hands

with which to hold the food. When I had grown to suffi-

cient size, I was required to go to the “big house” at

meal-times to fan the flies from the table by means of a

large set of paper fans operated by a pulley. Naturally

much of the conversation of the white people turned upon

the subject of freedom and the war, and I absorbed a

good deal of it. I remember that at one time I saw two of

my young mistresses and some lady visitors eating gin-

ger-cakes, in the yard. At that time those cakes seemed

to me to be absolutely the most tempting and desirable

things that I had ever seen; and I then and there resolved

that, if I ever got free, the height of my ambition would

be reached if I could get to the point where I could se-

cure and eat ginger-cakes in the way that I saw those

ladies doing.

Of course as the war was prolonged the white people, in

many cases, often found it difficult to secure food for

themselves. I think the slaves felt the deprivation less

than the whites, because the usual diet for slaves was

corn bread and pork, and these could be raised on the

plantation; but coffee, tea, sugar, and other articles which

the whites had been accustomed to use could not be

raised on the plantation, and the conditions brought about

by the war frequently made it impossible to secure these

things. The whites were often in great straits. Parched

corn was used for coffee, and a kind of black molasses was

used instead of sugar. Many times nothing was used to

sweeten the so-called tea and coffee.

The first pair of shoes that I recall wearing were wooden

ones. They had rough leather on the top, but the bot-

Booker T. Washington toms, which were about an inch thick, were of wood.

When I walked they made a fearful noise, and besides this

they were very inconvenient, since there was no yielding

to the natural pressure of the foot. In wearing them one

presented and exceedingly awkward appearance. The most

trying ordeal that I was forced to endure as a slave boy,

however, was the wearing of a flax shirt. In the portion of

Virginia where I lived it was common to use flax as part of

the clothing for the slaves. That part of the flax from

which our clothing was made was largely the refuse, which

of course was the cheapest and roughest part. I can scarcely

imagine any torture, except, perhaps, the pulling of a

tooth, that is equal to that caused by putting on a new

flax shirt for the first time. It is almost equal to the

feeling that one would experience if he had a dozen or

more chestnut burrs, or a hundred small pin-points, in

contact with his flesh. Even to this day I can recall accu-

rately the tortures that I underwent when putting on one

of these garments. The fact that my flesh was soft and

tender added to the pain. But I had no choice. I had to

wear the flax shirt or none; and had it been left to me to

choose, I should have chosen to wear no covering. In

connection with the flax shirt, my brother John, who is

several years older than I am, performed one of the most

generous acts that I ever heard of one slave relative doing

for another. On several occasions when I was being forced

to wear a new flax shirt, he generously agreed to put it on

in my stead and wear it for several days, till it was “bro-

ken in.” Until I had grown to be quite a youth this single

garment was all that I wore.

One may get the idea, from what I have said, that there

was bitter feeling toward the white people on the part of

my race, because of the fact that most of the white popu-

lation was away fighting in a war which would result in

keeping the Negro in slavery if the South was successful.

In the case of the slaves on our place this was not true,

and it was not true of any large portion of the slave popu-

lation in the South where the Negro was treated with

anything like decency. During the Civil War one of my

young masters was killed, and two were severely wounded.

I recall the feeling of sorrow which existed among the

slaves when they heard of the death of “Mars’ Billy.” It

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was no sham sorrow, but real. Some of the slaves had

nursed “Mars’ Billy”; others had played with him when he

was a child. “Mars’ Billy” had begged for mercy in the

case of others when the overseer or master was thrashing

them. The sorrow in the slave quarter was only second to

that in the “big house.” When the two young masters

were brought home wounded, the sympathy of the slaves

was shown in many ways. They were just as anxious to

assist in the nursing as the family relatives of the wounded.

Some of the slaves would even beg for the privilege of

sitting up at night to nurse their wounded masters. This

tenderness and sympathy on the part of those held in

bondage was a result of their kindly and generous nature.

In order to defend and protect the women and children

who were left on the plantations when the white males

went to war, the slaves would have laid down their lives.

The slave who was selected to sleep in the “big house”

during the absence of the males was considered to have

the place of honour. Any one attempting to harm “young

Mistress” or “old Mistress” during the night would have

had to cross the dead body of the slave to do so. I do not

know how many have noticed it, but I think that it will be

found to be true that there are few instances, either in

slavery or freedom, in which a member of my race has

been known to betray a specific trust.

As a rule, not only did the members of my race enter-

tain no feelings of bitterness against the whites before

and during the war, but there are many instances of Ne-

groes tenderly carrying for their former masters and mis-

tresses who for some reason have become poor and de-

pendent since the war. I know of instances where the

former masters of slaves have for years been supplied with

money by their former slaves to keep them from suffer-

ing. I have known of still other cases in which the former

slaves have assisted in the education of the descendants

of their former owners. I know of a case on a large plan-

tation in the South in which a young white man, the son

of the former owner of the estate, has become so reduced

in purse and self-control by reason of drink that he is a

pitiable creature; and yet, notwithstanding the poverty of

the coloured people themselves on this plantation, they

have for years supplied this young white man with the

Booker T. Washington necessities of life. One sends him a little coffee or sugar,

another a little meat, and so on. Nothing that the coloured

people possess is too good for the son of “old Mars’ Tom,”

who will perhaps never be permitted to suffer while any

remain on the place who knew directly or indirectly of

“old Mars’ Tom.”

I have said that there are few instances of a member of

my race betraying a specific trust. One of the best illus-

trations of this which I know of is in the case of an ex-

slave from Virginia whom I met not long ago in a little

town in the state of Ohio. I found that this man had

made a contract with his master, two or three years previ-

ous to the Emancipation Proclamation, to the effect that

the slave was to be permitted to buy himself, by paying

so much per year for his body; and while he was paying for

himself, he was to be permitted to labour where and for

whom he pleased. Finding that he could secure better

wages in Ohio, he went there. When freedom came, he was

still in debt to his master some three hundred dollars.

Notwithstanding that the Emancipation Proclamation freed

him from any obligation to his master, this black man

walked the greater portion of the distance back to where

his old master lived in Virginia, and placed the last dollar,

with interest, in his hands. In talking to me about this,

the man told me that he knew that he did not have to pay

the debt, but that he had given his word to the master,

and his word he had never broken. He felt that he could

not enjoy his freedom till he had fulfilled his promise.

From some things that I have said one may get the idea

that some of the slaves did not want freedom. This is not

true. I have never seen one who did not want to be free,

or one who would return to slavery.

I pity from the bottom of my heart any nation or body

of people that is so unfortunate as to get entangled in

the net of slavery. I have long since ceased to cherish any

spirit of bitterness against the Southern white people on

account of the enslavement of my race. No one section of

our country was wholly responsible for its introduction,

and, besides, it was recognized and protected for years by

the General Government. Having once got its tentacles

fastened on to the economic and social life of the Repub-

lic, it was no easy matter for the country to relieve itself

UP FROM SLAVERY

of the institution. Then, when we rid ourselves of preju-

dice, or racial feeling, and look facts in the face, we must

acknowledge that, notwithstanding the cruelty and moral

wrong of slavery, the ten million Negroes inhabiting this

country, who themselves or whose ancestors went through

the school of American slavery, are in a stronger and more

hopeful condition, materially, intellectually, morally, and

religiously, than is true of an equal number of black people

in any other portion of the globe. This is so to such an

extend that Negroes in this country, who themselves or

whose forefathers went through the school of slavery, are

constantly returning to Africa as missionaries to enlighten

those who remained in the fatherland. This I say, not to

justify slavery—on the other hand, I condemn it as an

institution, as we all know that in America it was estab-

lished for selfish and financial reasons, and not from a

missionary motive—but to call attention to a fact, and

to show how Providence so often uses men and institu-

tions to accomplish a purpose. When persons ask me in

these days how, in the midst of what sometimes seem

hopelessly discouraging conditions, I can have such faith

in the future of my race in this country, I remind them of

the wilderness through which and out of which, a good

Providence has already led us.

Ever since I have been old enough to think for myself, I

have entertained the idea that, notwithstanding the cruel

wrongs inflicted upon us, the black man got nearly as

much out of slavery as the white man did. The hurtful

influences of the institution were not by any means con-

fined to the Negro. This was fully illustrated by the life

upon our own plantation. The whole machinery of slavery

was so constructed as to cause labour, as a rule, to be

looked upon as a badge of degradation, of inferiority. Hence

labour was something that both races on the slave plan-

tation sought to escape. The slave system on our place, in

a large measure, took the spirit of self-reliance and self-

help out of the white people. My old master had many

boys and girls, but not one, so far as I know, ever mas-

tered a single trade or special line of productive industry.

The girls were not taught to cook, sew, or to take care of

the house. All of this was left to the slaves. The slaves, of

course, had little personal interest in the life of the plan-

Booker T. Washington tation, and their ignorance prevented them from learning

how to do things in the most improved and thorough

manner. As a result of the system, fences were out of

repair, gates were hanging half off the hinges, doors

creaked, window-panes were out, plastering had fallen but

was not replaced, weeds grew in the yard. As a rule, there

was food for whites and blacks, but inside the house, and

on the dining-room table, there was wanting that deli-

cacy and refinement of touch and finish which can make a

home the most convenient, comfortable, and attractive

place in the world. Withal there was a waste of food and

other materials which was sad. When freedom came, the

slaves were almost as well fitted to begin life anew as the

master, except in the matter of book-learning and owner-

ship of property. The slave owner and his sons had mas-

tered no special industry. They unconsciously had imbibed

the feeling that manual labour was not the proper thing

for them. On the other hand, the slaves, in many cases,

had mastered some handicraft, and none were ashamed,

and few unwilling, to labour.

Finally the war closed, and the day of freedom came. It

was a momentous and eventful day to all upon our plan-

tation. We had been expecting it. Freedom was in the air,

and had been for months. Deserting soldiers returning to

their homes were to be seen every day. Others who had

been discharged, or whose regiments had been paroled,

were constantly passing near our place. The “grape-vine

telegraph” was kept busy night and day. The news and

mutterings of great events were swiftly carried from one

plantation to another. In the fear of “Yankee” invasions,

the silverware and other valuables were taken from the

“big house,” buried in the woods, and guarded by trusted

slaves. Woe be to any one who would have attempted to

disturb the buried treasure. The slaves would give the

Yankee soldiers food, drink, clothing—anything but that

which had been specifically intrusted to their care and

honour. As the great day drew nearer, there was more

singing in the slave quarters than usual. It was bolder,

had more ring, and lasted later into the night. Most of

the verses of the plantation songs had some reference to

freedom. True, they had sung those same verses before,

but they had been careful to explain that the “freedom”

UP FROM SLAVERY

in these songs referred to the next world, and had no

connection with life in this world. Now they gradually

threw off the mask, and were not afraid to let it be known

that the “freedom” in their songs meant freedom of the

body in this world. The night before the eventful day,

word was sent to the slave quarters to the effect that

something unusual was going to take place at the “big

house” the next morning. There was little, if any, sleep

that night. All as excitement and expectancy. Early the

next morning word was sent to all the slaves, old and

young, to gather at the house. In company with my mother,

brother, and sister, and a large number of other slaves, I

went to the master’s house. All of our master’s family

were either standing or seated on the veranda of the house,

where they could see what was to take place and hear

what was said. There was a feeling of deep interest, or

perhaps sadness, on their faces, but not bitterness. As I

now recall the impression they made upon me, they did

not at the moment seem to be sad because of the loss of

property, but rather because of parting with those whom

they had reared and who were in many ways very close to

them. The most distinct thing that I now recall in con-

nection with the scene was that some man who seemed

to be a stranger (a United States officer, I presume) made

a little speech and then read a rather long paper—the

Emancipation Proclamation, I think. After the reading we

were told that we were all free, and could go when and

where we pleased. My mother, who was standing by my

side, leaned over and kissed her children, while tears of

joy ran down her cheeks. She explained to us what it all

meant, that this was the day for which she had been so

long praying, but fearing that she would never live to see.

For some minutes there was great rejoicing, and thanks-

giving, and wild scenes of ecstasy. But there was no feel-

ing of bitterness. In fact, there was pity among the slaves

for our former owners. The wild rejoicing on the part of

the emancipated coloured people lasted but for a brief

period, for I noticed that by the time they returned to

their cabins there was a change in their feelings. The great

responsibility of being free, of having charge of them-

selves, of having to think and plan for themselves and

their children, seemed to take possession of them. It was

Booker T. Washington very much like suddenly turning a youth of ten or twelve

years out into the world to provide for himself. In a few

hours the great questions with which the Anglo-Saxon

race had been grappling for centuries had been thrown

upon these people to be solved. These were the questions

of a home, a living, the rearing of children, education,

citizenship, and the establishment and support of churches.

Was it any wonder that within a few hours the wild rejoic-

ing ceased and a feeling of deep gloom seemed to pervade

the slave quarters? To some it seemed that, now that they

were in actual possession of it, freedom was a more seri-

ous thing than they had expected to find it. Some of the

slaves were seventy or eighty years old; their best days

were gone. They had no strength with which to earn a

living in a strange place and among strange people, even

if they had been sure where to find a new place of abode.

To this class the problem seemed especially hard. Besides,

deep down in their hearts there was a strange and peculiar

attachment to “old Marster” and “old Missus,” and to

their children, which they found it hard to think of break-

ing off. With these they had spent in some cases nearly a

half-century, and it was no light thing to think of parting.

Gradually, one by one, stealthily at first, the older slaves

began to wander from the slave quarters back to the “big

house” to have a whispered conversation with their former

owners as to the future.

UP FROM SLAVERY

Chapter II. Boyhood Days

A fter the coming of freedom there were two points

upon which practically all the people on our place

were agreed, and I found that this was generally

true throughout the South: that they must change their

names, and that they must leave the old plantation for at

least a few days or weeks in order that they might really

feel sure that they were free.

In some way a feeling got among the coloured people

that it was far from proper for them to bear the surname

of their former owners, and a great many of them took

other surnames. This was one of the first signs of free-

dom. When they were slaves, a coloured person was sim-

ply called “John” or “Susan.” There was seldom occasion

for more than the use of the one name. If “John” or

“Susan” belonged to a white man by the name of “Hatcher,”

sometimes he was called “John Hatcher,” or as often

“Hatcher’s John.” But there was a feeling that “John

Hatcher” or “Hatcher’s John” was not the proper title by

which to denote a freeman; and so in many cases “John

Hatcher” was changed to “John S. Lincoln” or “John S.

Sherman,” the initial “S” standing for no name, it being

simply a part of what the coloured man proudly called his

“entitles.”

As I have stated, most of the coloured people left the old

plantation for a short while at least, so as to be sure, it

seemed, that they could leave and try their freedom on to

see how it felt. After they had remained away for a while,

many of the older slaves, especially, returned to their old

homes and made some kind of contract with their former

owners by which they remained on the estate.

My mother’s husband, who was the stepfather of my

brother John and myself, did not belong to the same

owners as did my mother. In fact, he seldom came to our

plantation. I remember seeing his there perhaps once a

year, that being about Christmas time. In some way, dur-

ing the war, by running away and following the Federal

soldiers, it seems, he found his way into the new state of

West Virginia. As soon as freedom was declared, he sent

for my mother to come to the Kanawha Valley, in West

Virginia. At that time a journey from Virginia over the

Booker T. Washington mountains to West Virginia was rather a tedious and in

some cases a painful undertaking. What little clothing

and few household goods we had were placed in a cart,

but the children walked the greater portion of the dis-

tance, which was several hundred miles.

I do not think any of us ever had been very far from the

plantation, and the taking of a long journey into another

state was quite an event. The parting from our former

owners and the members of our own race on the planta-

tion was a serious occasion. From the time of our parting

till their death we kept up a correspondence with the

older members of the family, and in later years we have

kept in touch with those who were the younger members.

We were several weeks making the trip, and most of the

time we slept in the open air and did our cooking over a

log fire out-of-doors. One night I recall that we camped

near an abandoned log cabin, and my mother decided to

build a fire in that for cooking, and afterward to make a

“pallet” on the floor for our sleeping. Just as the fire had

gotten well started a large black snake fully a yard and a

half long dropped down the chimney and ran out on the

floor. Of course we at once abandoned that cabin. Finally

we reached our destination—a little town called Malden,

which is about five miles from Charleston, the present

capital of the state.

At that time salt-mining was the great industry in that

part of West Virginia, and the little town of Malden was

right in the midst of the salt-furnaces. My stepfather had

already secured a job at a salt-furnace, and he had also

secured a little cabin for us to live in. Our new house was

no better than the one we had left on the old plantation

in Virginia. In fact, in one respect it was worse. Notwith-

standing the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we

were at all times sure of pure air. Our new home was in the

midst of a cluster of cabins crowded closely together, and

as there were no sanitary regulations, the filth about the

cabins was often intolerable. Some of our neighbours were

coloured people, and some were the poorest and most

ignorant and degraded white people. It was a motley mix-

ture. Drinking, gambling, quarrels, fights, and shockingly

immoral practices were frequent. All who lived in the little

town were in one way or another connected with the salt

UP FROM SLAVERY

business. Though I was a mere child, my stepfather put

me and my brother at work in one of the furnaces. Often

I began work as early as four o’clock in the morning.

The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowl-

edge was while working in this salt-furnace. Each salt-

packer had his barrels marked with a certain number.

The number allotted to my stepfather was “18.” At the

close of the day’s work the boss of the packers would

come around and put “18” on each of our barrels, and

I soon learned to recognize that figure wherever I saw

it, and after a while got to the point where I could

make that figure, though I knew nothing about any

other figures or letters.

From the time that I can remember having any thoughts

about anything, I recall that I had an intense longing to

learn to read. I determined, when quite a small child,

that, if I accomplished nothing else in life, I would in

some way get enough education to enable me to read

common books and newspapers. Soon after we got settled

in some manner in our new cabin in West Virginia, I in-

duced my mother to get hold of a book for me. How or

where she got it I do not know, but in some way she

procured an old copy of Webster’s “blue-back” spelling-

book, which contained the alphabet, followed by such

meaningless words as “ab,” “ba,” “ca,” “da.” I began at

once to devour this book, and I think that it was the first

one I ever had in my hands. I had learned from somebody

that the way to begin to read was to learn the alphabet,

so I tried in all the ways I could think of to learn it,—all

of course without a teacher, for I could find no one to

teach me. At that time there was not a single member of

my race anywhere near us who could read, and I was too

timid to approach any of the white people. In some way,

within a few weeks, I mastered the greater portion of the

alphabet. In all my efforts to learn to read my mother

shared fully my ambition, and sympathized with me and

aided me in every way that she could. Though she was

totally ignorant, she had high ambitions for her children,

and a large fund of good, hard, common sense, which

seemed to enable her to meet and master every situation.

If I have done anything in life worth attention, I feel sure

that I inherited the disposition from my mother.

Booker T. Washington In the midst of my struggles and longing for an educa-

tion, a young coloured boy who had learned to read in the

state of Ohio came to Malden. As soon as the coloured

people found out that he could read, a newspaper was

secured, and at the close of nearly every day’s work this

young man would be surrounded by a group of men and

women who were anxious to hear him read the news con-

tained in the papers. How I used to envy this man! He

seemed to me to be the one young man in all the world

who ought to be satisfied with his attainments.

About this time the question of having some kind of a

school opened for the coloured children in the village be-

gan to be discussed by members of the race. As it would

be the first school for Negro children that had ever been

opened in that part of Virginia, it was, of course, to be a

great event, and the discussion excited the wildest inter-

est. The most perplexing question was where to find a

teacher. The young man from Ohio who had learned to

read the papers was considered, but his age was against

him. In the midst of the discussion about a teacher, an-

other young coloured man from Ohio, who had been a

soldier, in some way found his way into town. It was soon

learned that he possessed considerable education, and he

was engaged by the coloured people to teach their first

school. As yet no free schools had been started for coloured

people in that section, hence each family agreed to pay a

certain amount per month, with the understanding that

the teacher was to “board ‘round”—that is, spend a day

with each family. This was not bad for the teacher, for

each family tried to provide the very best on the day the

teacher was to be its guest. I recall that I looked forward

with an anxious appetite to the “teacher’s day” at our

little cabin.

This experience of a whole race beginning to go to school

for the first time, presents one of the most interesting

studies that has ever occurred in connection with the

development of any race. Few people who were not right

in the midst of the scenes can form any exact idea of the

intense desire which the people of my race showed for an

education. As I have stated, it was a whole race trying to

go to school. Few were too young, and none too old, to

make the attempt to learn. As fast as any kind of teachers

UP FROM SLAVERY

could be secured, not only were day-schools filled, but

night-schools as well. The great ambition of the older

people was to try to learn to read the Bible before they

died. With this end in view men and women who were fifty

or seventy-five years old would often be found in the

night-school. Some day-schools were formed soon after

freedom, but the principal book studied in the Sunday-

school was the spelling-book. Day-school, night-school,

Sunday-school, were always crowded, and often many had

to be turned away for want of room.

The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, how-

ever, brought to me one of the keenest disappointments

that I ever experienced. I had been working in a salt-

furnace for several months, and my stepfather had discov-

ered that I had a financial value, and so, when the school

opened, he decided that he could not spare me from my

work. This decision seemed to cloud my every ambition.

The disappointment was made all the more severe by rea-

son of the fact that my place of work was where I could

see the happy children passing to and from school morn-

ings and afternoons. Despite this disappointment, how-

ever, I determined that I would learn something, anyway.

I applied myself with greater earnestness than ever to the

mastering of what was in the “blue-back” speller.

My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment,

and sought to comfort me in all the ways she could, and

to help me find a way to learn. After a while I succeeded

in making arrangements with the teacher to give me some

lessons at night, after the day’s work was done. These

night lessons were so welcome that I think I learned more

at night than the other children did during the day. My

own experiences in the night-school gave me faith in the

night-school idea, with which, in after years, I had to do

both at Hampton and Tuskegee. But my boyish heart was

still set upon going to the day-school, and I let no op-

portunity slip to push my case. Finally I won, and was

permitted to go to the school in the day for a few months,

with the understanding that I was to rise early in the

morning and work in the furnace till nine o’clock, and

return immediately after school closed in the afternoon

for at least two more hours of work.

The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace,

Booker T. Washington and as I had to work till nine o’clock, and the school

opened at nine, I found myself in a difficulty. School would

always be begun before I reached it, and sometimes my

class had recited. To get around this difficulty I yielded to

a temptation for which most people, I suppose, will con-

demn me; but since it is a fact, I might as well state it. I

have great faith in the power and influence of facts. It is

seldom that anything is permanently gained by holding

back a fact. There was a large clock in a little office in the

furnace. This clock, of course, all the hundred or more

workmen depended upon to regulate their hours of begin-

ning and ending the day’s work. I got the idea that the

way for me to reach school on time was to move the clock

hands from half-past eight up to the nine o’clock mark.

This I found myself doing morning after morning, till the

furnace “boss” discovered that something was wrong, and

locked the clock in a case. I did not mean to inconve-

nience anybody. I simply meant to reach that school-

house in time.

When, however, I found myself at the school for the

first time, I also found myself confronted with two other

difficulties. In the first place, I found that all the other

children wore hats or caps on their heads, and I had nei-

ther hat nor cap. In fact, I do not remember that up to

the time of going to school I had ever worn any kind of

covering upon my head, nor do I recall that either I or

anybody else had even thought anything about the need

of covering for my head. But, of course, when I saw how

all the other boys were dressed, I began to feel quite

uncomfortable. As usual, I put the case before my mother,

and she explained to me that she had no money with

which to buy a “store hat,” which was a rather new insti-

tution at that time among the members of my race and

was considered quite the thing for young and old to own,

but that she would find a way to help me out of the

difficulty. She accordingly got two pieces of “homespun”

(jeans) and sewed them together, and I was soon the

proud possessor of my first cap.

The lesson that my mother taught me in this has always

remained with me, and I have tried as best as I could to

teach it to others. I have always felt proud, whenever I

think of the incident, that my mother had strength of

UP FROM SLAVERY

character enough not to be led into the temptation of

seeming to be that which she was not—of trying to im-

press my schoolmates and others with the fact that she

was able to buy me a “store hat” when she was not. I

have always felt proud that she refused to go into debt

for that which she did not have the money to pay for.

Since that time I have owned many kinds of caps and

hats, but never one of which I have felt so proud as of the

cap made of the two pieces of cloth sewed together by

my mother. I have noted the fact, but without satisfac-

tion, I need not add, that several of the boys who began

their careers with “store hats” and who were my school-

mates and used to join in the sport that was made of me

because I had only a “homespun” cap, have ended their

careers in the penitentiary, while others are not able now

to buy any kind of hat.

My second difficulty was with regard to my name, or

rather A name. From the time when I could remember

anything, I had been called simply “Booker.” Before go-

ing to school it had never occurred to me that it was

needful or appropriate to have an additional name. When

I heard the schoolroll called, I noticed that all of the

children had at least two names, and some of them in-

dulged in what seemed to me the extravagance of having

three. I was in deep perplexity, because I knew that the

teacher would demand of me at least two names, and I

had only one. By the time the occasion came for the

enrolling of my name, an idea occurred to me which I

thought would make me equal to the situation; and so,

when the teacher asked me what my full name was, I

calmly told him “Booker Washington,” as if I had been

called by that name all my life; and by that name I have

since been known. Later in my life I found that my mother

had given me the name of “Booker Taliaferro” soon after I

was born, but in some way that part of my name seemed

to disappear and for a long while was forgotten, but as

soon as I found out about it I revived it, and made my

full name “Booker Taliaferro Washington.” I think there

are not many men in our country who have had the privi-

lege of naming themselves in the way that I have.

More than once I have tried to picture myself in the

position of a boy or man with an honoured and distin-

Booker T. Washington guished ancestry which I could trace back through a pe-

riod of hundreds of years, and who had not only inherited

a name, but fortune and a proud family homestead; and

yet I have sometimes had the feeling that if I had inher-

ited these, and had been a member of a more popular

race, I should have been inclined to yield to the tempta-

tion of depending upon my ancestry and my colour to do

that for me which I should do for myself. Years ago I

resolved that because I had no ancestry myself I would

leave a record of which my children would be proud, and

which might encourage them to still higher effort.

The world should not pass judgment upon the Negro,

and especially the Negro youth, too quickly or too harshly.

The Negro boy has obstacles, discouragements, and temp-

tations to battle with that are little know to those not

situated as he is. When a white boy undertakes a task, it

is taken for granted that he will succeed. On the other

hand, people are usually surprised if the Negro boy does

not fail. In a word, the Negro youth starts out with the

presumption against him.

The influence of ancestry, however, is important in help-

ing forward any individual or race, if too much reliance is

not placed upon it. Those who constantly direct atten-

tion to the Negro youth’s moral weaknesses, and com-

pare his advancement with that of white youths, do not

consider the influence of the memories which cling about

the old family homesteads. I have no idea, as I have

stated elsewhere, who my grandmother was. I have, or

have had, uncles and aunts and cousins, but I have no

knowledge as to where most of them are. My case will

illustrate that of hundreds of thousands of black people

in every part of our country. The very fact that the white

boy is conscious that, if he fails in life, he will disgrace

the whole family record, extending back through many

generations, is of tremendous value in helping him to

resist temptations. The fact that the individual has be-

hind and surrounding him proud family history and con-

nection serves as a stimulus to help him to overcome

obstacles when striving for success.

The time that I was permitted to attend school during

the day was short, and my attendance was irregular. It

was not long before I had to stop attending day-school

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altogether, and devote all of my time again to work. I

resorted to the night-school again. In fact, the greater

part of the education I secured in my boyhood was gath-

ered through the night-school after my day’s work was

done. I had difficulty often in securing a satisfactory

teacher. Sometimes, after I had secured some one to teach

me at night, I would find, much to my disappointment,

that the teacher knew but little more than I did. Often I

would have to walk several miles at night in order to

recite my night-school lessons. There was never a time in

my youth, no matter how dark and discouraging the days

might be, when one resolve did not continually remain

with me, and that was a determination to secure an edu-

cation at any cost.

Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother

adopted into our family, notwithstanding our poverty,

an orphan boy, to whom afterward we gave the name of

James B. Washington. He has ever since remained a mem-

ber of the family.

After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time,

work was secured for me in a coal-mine which was oper-

ated mainly for the purpose of securing fuel for the salt-

furnace. Work in the coal-mine I always dreaded. One rea-

son for this was that any one who worked in a coal-mine

was always unclean, at least while at work, and it was a

very hard job to get one’s skin clean after the day’s work

was over. Then it was fully a mile from the opening of the

coal-mine to the face of the coal, and all, of course, was

in the blackest darkness. I do not believe that one ever

experiences anywhere else such darkness as he does in a

coal-mine. The mine was divided into a large number of

different “rooms” or departments, and, as I never was

able to learn the location of all these “rooms,” I many

times found myself lost in the mine. To add to the horror

of being lost, sometimes my light would go out, and then,

if I did not happen to have a match, I would wander

about in the darkness until by chance I found some one

to give me a light. The work was not only hard, but it was

dangerous. There was always the danger of being blown to

pieces by a premature explosion of powder, or of being

crushed by falling slate. Accidents from one or the other

of these causes were frequently occurring, and this kept

Booker T. Washington me in constant fear. Many children of the tenderest years

were compelled then, as is now true I fear, in most coal-

mining districts, to spend a large part of their lives in

these coal-mines, with little opportunity to get an edu-

cation; and, what is worse, I have often noted that, as a

rule, young boys who begin life in a coal-mine are often

physically and mentally dwarfed. They soon lose ambition

to do anything else than to continue as a coal-miner.

In those days, and later as a young man, I used to try

to picture in my imagination the feelings and ambitions

of a white boy with absolutely no limit placed upon his

aspirations and activities. I used to envy the white boy

who had no obstacles placed in the way of his becoming a

Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President by reason of

the accident of his birth or race. I used to picture the way

that I would act under such circumstances; how I would

begin at the bottom and keep rising until I reached the

highest round of success.

In later years, I confess that I do not envy the white

boy as I once did. I have learned that success is to be

measured not so much by the position that one has reached

in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while

trying to succeed. Looked at from this standpoint, I al-

most reached the conclusion that often the Negro boy’s

birth and connection with an unpopular race is an advan-

tage, so far as real life is concerned. With few exceptions,

the Negro youth must work harder and must perform his

tasks even better than a white youth in order to secure

recognition. But out of the hard and unusual struggle

through which he is compelled to pass, he gets a strength,

a confidence, that one misses whose pathway is compara-

tively smooth by reason of birth and race.

From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a

member of the Negro race, than be able to claim member-

ship with the most favoured of any other race. I have

always been made sad when I have heard members of any

race claiming rights or privileges, or certain badges of

distinction, on the ground simply that they were mem-

bers of this or that race, regardless of their own individual

worth or attainments. I have been made to feel sad for

such persons because I am conscious of the fact that

mere connection with what is known as a superior race

UP FROM SLAVERY

will not permanently carry an individual forward unless he

has individual worth, and mere connection with what is

regarded as an inferior race will not finally hold an indi-

vidual back if he possesses intrinsic, individual merit. Ev-

ery persecuted individual and race should get much con-

solation out of the great human law, which is universal

and eternal, that merit, no matter under what skin found,

is, in the long run, recognized and rewarded. This I have

said here, not to call attention to myself as an individual,

but to the race to which I am proud to belong.

Chapter III. The Struggle For An Education

O ne day, while at work in the coal-mine, I hap

pened to overhear two miners talking about a great

school for coloured people somewhere in Virginia.

This was the first time that I had ever heard anything

about any kind of school or college that was more preten-

tious than the little coloured school in our town.

In the darkness of the mine I noiselessly crept as close

as I could to the two men who were talking. I heard one

tell the other that not only was the school established for

the members of any race, but the opportunities that it

provided by which poor but worthy students could work

out all or a part of the cost of a board, and at the same

time be taught some trade or industry.

As they went on describing the school, it seemed to me

that it must be the greatest place on earth, and not even

Heaven presented more attractions for me at that time

than did the Hampton Normal and Agricultural Institute

in Virginia, about which these men were talking. I re-

solved at once to go to that school, although I had no

Booker T. Washington idea where it was, or how many miles away, or how I was

going to reach it; I remembered only that I was on fire

constantly with one ambition, and that was to go to Hamp-

ton. This thought was with me day and night.

After hearing of the Hampton Institute, I continued to

work for a few months longer in the coal-mine. While at

work there, I heard of a vacant position in the household

of General Lewis Ruffner, the owner of the salt-furnace

and coal-mine. Mrs. Viola Ruffner, the wife of General

Ruffner, was a “Yankee” woman from Vermont. Mrs. Ruffner

had a reputation all through the vicinity for being very

strict with her servants, and especially with the boys who

tried to serve her. Few of them remained with her more

than two or three weeks. They all left with the same ex-

cuse: she was too strict. I decided, however, that I would

rather try Mrs. Ruffner’s house than remain in the coal-

mine, and so my mother applied to her for the vacant

position. I was hired at a salary of $5 per month.

I had heard so much about Mrs. Ruffner’s severity that I

was almost afraid to see her, and trembled when I went

into her presence. I had not lived with her many weeks,

however, before I began to understand her. I soon began

to learn that, first of all, she wanted everything kept

clean about her, that she wanted things done promptly

and systematically, and that at the bottom of everything

she wanted absolute honesty and frankness. Nothing must

be sloven or slipshod; every door, every fence, must be

kept in repair.

I cannot now recall how long I lived with Mrs. Ruffner

before going to Hampton, but I think it must have been

a year and a half. At any rate, I here repeat what I have

said more than once before, that the lessons that I learned

in the home of Mrs. Ruffner were as valuable to me as any

education I have ever gotten anywhere else. Even to this

day I never see bits of paper scattered around a house or

in the street that I do not want to pick them up at once.

I never see a filthy yard that I do not want to clean it, a

paling off of a fence that I do not want to put it on, an

unpainted or unwhitewashed house that I do not want to

pain or whitewash it, or a button off one’s clothes, or a

grease-spot on them or on a floor, that I do not want to

call attention to it.

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From fearing Mrs. Ruffner I soon learned to look upon

her as one of my best friends. When she found that she

could trust me she did so implicitly. During the one or

two winters that I was with her she gave me an opportu-

nity to go to school for an hour in the day during a por-

tion of the winter months, but most of my studying was

done at night, sometimes alone, sometimes under some

one whom I could hire to teach me. Mrs. Ruffner always

encouraged and sympathized with me in all my efforts to

get an education. It was while living with her that I be-

gan to get together my first library. I secured a dry-goods

box, knocked out one side of it, put some shelves in it,

and began putting into it every kind of book that I could

get my hands upon, and called it my “library.”

Notwithstanding my success at Mrs. Ruffner’s I did not

give up the idea of going to the Hampton Institute. In

the fall of 1872 I determined to make an effort to get

there, although, as I have stated, I had no definite idea

of the direction in which Hampton was, or of what it

would cost to go there. I do not think that any one thor-

oughly sympathized with me in my ambition to go to

Hampton unless it was my mother, and she was troubled

with a grave fear that I was starting out on a “wild-goose

chase.” At any rate, I got only a half-hearted consent

from her that I might start. The small amount of money

that I had earned had been consumed by my stepfather

and the remainder of the family, with the exception of a

very few dollars, and so I had very little with which to buy

clothes and pay my travelling expenses. My brother John

helped me all that he could, but of course that was not a

great deal, for his work was in the coal-mine, where he

did not earn much, and most of what he did earn went in

the direction of paying the household expenses.

Perhaps the thing that touched and pleased me most in

connection with my starting for Hampton was the inter-

est that many of the older coloured people took in the

matter. They had spent the best days of their lives in

slavery, and hardly expected to live to see the time when

they would see a member of their race leave home to

attend a boarding-school. Some of these older people would

give me a nickel, others a quarter, or a handkerchief.

Finally the great day came, and I started for Hampton.

Booker T. Washington I had only a small, cheap satchel that contained a few

articles of clothing I could get. My mother at the time

was rather weak and broken in health. I hardly expected

to see her again, and thus our parting was all the more

sad. She, however, was very brave through it all. At that

time there were no through trains connecting that part of

West Virginia with eastern Virginia. Trains ran only a por-

tion of the way, and the remainder of the distance was

travelled by stage-coaches.

The distance from Malden to Hampton is about five hun-

dred miles. I had not been away from home many hours

before it began to grow painfully evident that I did not

have enough money to pay my fair to Hampton. One ex-

perience I shall long remember. I had been travelling over

the mountains most of the afternoon in an old-fashion

stage-coach, when, late in the evening, the coach stopped

for the night at a common, unpainted house called a ho-

tel. All the other passengers except myself were whites.

In my ignorance I supposed that the little hotel existed

for the purpose of accommodating the passengers who

travelled on the stage-coach. The difference that the colour

of one’s skin would make I had not thought anything

about. After all the other passengers had been shown rooms

and were getting ready for supper, I shyly presented my-

self before the man at the desk. It is true I had practically

no money in my pocket with which to pay for bed or food,

but I had hoped in some way to beg my way into the

good graces of the landlord, for at that season in the

mountains of Virginia the weather was cold, and I wanted

to get indoors for the night. Without asking as to whether

I had any money, the man at the desk firmly refused to

even consider the matter of providing me with food or

lodging. This was my first experience in finding out what

the colour of my skin meant. In some way I managed to

keep warm by walking about, and so got through the

night. My whole soul was so bent upon reaching Hampton

that I did not have time to cherish any bitterness toward

the hotel-keeper.

By walking, begging rides both in wagons and in the

cars, in some way, after a number of days, I reached the

city of Richmond, Virginia, about eighty-two miles from

Hampton. When I reached there, tired, hungry, and dirty,

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it was late in the night. I had never been in a large city,

and this rather added to my misery. When I reached Rich-

mond, I was completely out of money. I had not a single

acquaintance in the place, and, being unused to city ways,

I did not know where to go. I applied at several places for

lodging, but they all wanted money, and that was what I

did not have. Knowing nothing else better to do, I walked

the streets. In doing this I passed by many a food-stands

where fried chicken and half-moon apple pies were piled

high and made to present a most tempting appearance.

At that time it seemed to me that I would have promised

all that I expected to possess in the future to have gotten

hold of one of those chicken legs or one of those pies. But

I could not get either of these, nor anything else to eat.

I must have walked the streets till after midnight. At

last I became so exhausted that I could walk no longer. I

was tired, I was hungry, I was everything but discour-

aged. Just about the time when I reached extreme physi-

cal exhaustion, I came upon a portion of a street where

the board sidewalk was considerably elevated. I waited for

a few minutes, till I was sure that no passers-by could see

me, and then crept under the sidewalk and lay for the

night upon the ground, with my satchel of clothing for a

pillow. Nearly all night I could hear the tramp of feet over

my head. The next morning I found myself somewhat re-

freshed, but I was extremely hungry, because it had been

a long time since I had had sufficient food. As soon as it

became light enough for me to see my surroundings I

noticed that I was near a large ship, and that this ship

seemed to be unloading a cargo of pig iron. I went at

once to the vessel and asked the captain to permit me to

help unload the vessel in order to get money for food. The

captain, a white man, who seemed to be kind-hearted,

consented. I worked long enough to earn money for my

breakfast, and it seems to me, as I remember it now, to

have been about the best breakfast that I have ever eaten.

My work pleased the captain so well that he told me if I

desired I could continue working for a small amount per

day. This I was very glad to do. I continued working on

this vessel for a number of days. After buying food with

the small wages I received there was not much left to add

on the amount I must get to pay my way to Hampton. In

Booker T. Washington order to economize in every way possible, so as to be sure

to reach Hampton in a reasonable time, I continued to

sleep under the same sidewalk that gave me shelter the

first night I was in Richmond. Many years after that the

coloured citizens of Richmond very kindly tendered me a

reception at which there must have been two thousand

people present. This reception was held not far from the

spot where I slept the first night I spent in the city, and

I must confess that my mind was more upon the sidewalk

that first gave me shelter than upon the recognition, agree-

able and cordial as it was.

When I had saved what I considered enough money with

which to reach Hampton, I thanked the captain of the

vessel for his kindness, and started again. Without any

unusual occurrence I reached Hampton, with a surplus of

exactly fifty cents with which to begin my education. To

me it had been a long, eventful journey; but the first

sight of the large, three-story, brick school building seemed

to have rewarded me for all that I had undergone in order

to reach the place. If the people who gave the money to

provide that building could appreciate the influence the

sight of it had upon me, as well as upon thousands of

other youths, they would feel all the more encouraged to

make such gifts. It seemed to me to be the largest and

most beautiful building I had ever seen. The sight of it

seemed to give me new life. I felt that a new kind of

existence had now begun—that life would now have a

new meaning. I felt that I had reached the promised land,

and I resolved to let no obstacle prevent me from putting

forth the highest effort to fit myself to accomplish the

most good in the world.

As soon as possible after reaching the grounds of the

Hampton Institute, I presented myself before the head

teacher for an assignment to a class. Having been so long

without proper food, a bath, and a change of clothing, I

did not, of course, make a very favourable impression upon

her, and I could see at once that there were doubts in her

mind about the wisdom of admitting me as a student. I

felt that I could hardly blame her if she got the idea that

I was a worthless loafer or tramp. For some time she did

not refuse to admit me, neither did she decide in my

favour, and I continued to linger about her, and to im-

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press her in all the ways I could with my worthiness. In

the meantime I saw her admitting other students, and

that added greatly to my discomfort, for I felt, deep down

in my heart, that I could do as well as they, if I could only

get a chance to show what was in me.

After some hours had passed, the head teacher said to

me: “The adjoining recitation-room needs sweeping. Take

the broom and sweep it.”

It occurred to me at once that here was my chance.

Never did I receive an order with more delight. I knew

that I could sweep, for Mrs. Ruffner had thoroughly taught

me how to do that when I lived with her.

I swept the recitation-room three times. Then I got a

dusting-cloth and dusted it four times. All the woodwork

around the walls, every bench, table, and desk, I went

over four times with my dusting-cloth. Besides, every piece

of furniture had been moved and every closet and corner

in the room had been thoroughly cleaned. I had the feel-

ing that in a large measure my future dependent upon the

impression I made upon the teacher in the cleaning of

that room. When I was through, I reported to the head

teacher. She was a “Yankee” woman who knew just where

to look for dirt. She went into the room and inspected the

floor and closets; then she took her handkerchief and

rubbed it on the woodwork about the walls, and over the

table and benches. When she was unable to find one bit of

dirt on the floor, or a particle of dust on any of the furni-

ture, she quietly remarked, “I guess you will do to enter

this institution.”

I was one of the happiest souls on Earth. The sweeping

of that room was my college examination, and never did

any youth pass an examination for entrance into Harvard

or Yale that gave him more genuine satisfaction. I have

passed several examinations since then, but I have always

felt that this was the best one I ever passed.

I have spoken of my own experience in entering the Hamp-

ton Institute. Perhaps few, if any, had anything like the

same experience that I had, but about the same period

there were hundreds who found their way to Hampton and

other institutions after experiencing something of the same

difficulties that I went through. The young men and women

were determined to secure an education at any cost.

Booker T. Washington The sweeping of the recitation-room in the manner that

I did it seems to have paved the way for me to get through

Hampton. Miss Mary F. Mackie, the head teacher, offered

me a position as janitor. This, of course, I gladly accepted,

because it was a place where I could work out nearly all

the cost of my board. The work was hard and taxing but I

stuck to it. I had a large number of rooms to care for, and

had to work late into the night, while at the same time I

had to rise by four o’clock in the morning, in order to

build the fires and have a little time in which to prepare

my lessons. In all my career at Hampton, and ever since I

have been out in the world, Miss Mary F. Mackie, the head

teacher to whom I have referred, proved one of my stron-

gest and most helpful friends. Her advice and encourage-

ment were always helpful in strengthening to me in the

darkest hour.

I have spoken of the impression that was made upon me

by the buildings and general appearance of the Hampton

Institute, but I have not spoken of that which made the

greatest and most lasting impression on me, and that was

a great man—the noblest, rarest human being that it has

ever been my privilege to meet. I refer to the late General

Samuel C. Armstrong.

It has been my fortune to meet personally many of what

are called great characters, both in Europe and America,

but I do not hesitate to say that I never met any man

who, in my estimation, was the equal of General Armstrong.

Fresh from the degrading influences of the slave planta-

tion and the coal-mines, it was a rare privilege for me to

be permitted to come into direct contact with such a

character as General Armstrong. I shall always remember

that the first time I went into his presence he made the

impression upon me of being a perfect man: I was made

to feel that there was something about him that was

superhuman. It was my privilege to know the General per-

sonally from the time I entered Hampton till he died, and

the more I saw of him the greater he grew in my estima-

tion. One might have removed from Hampton all the build-

ings, class-rooms, teachers, and industries, and given the

men and women there the opportunity of coming into

daily contact with General Armstrong, and that alone would

have been a liberal education. The older I grow, the more

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I am convinced that there is no education which one can

get from books and costly apparatus that is equal to that

which can be gotten from contact with great men and

women. Instead of studying books so constantly, how I

wish that our schools and colleges might learn to study

men and things!

General Armstrong spent two of the last six months of

his life in my home at Tuskegee. At that time he was

paralyzed to the extent that he had lost control of his

body and voice in a very large degree. Notwithstanding

his affliction, he worked almost constantly night and day

for the cause to which he had given his life. I never saw a

man who so completely lost sight of himself. I do not

believe he ever had a selfish thought. He was just as happy

in trying to assist some other institution in the South as

he was when working for Hampton. Although he fought

the Southern white man in the Civil War, I never heard him

utter a bitter word against him afterward. On the other

hand, he was constantly seeking to find ways by which he

could be of service to the Southern whites.

It would be difficult to describe the hold that he had

upon the students at Hampton, or the faith they had in

him. In fact, he was worshipped by his students. It never

occurred to me that General Armstrong could fail in any-

thing that he undertook. There is almost no request that

he could have made that would not have been complied

with. When he was a guest at my home in Alabama, and

was so badly paralyzed that he had to be wheeled about

in an invalid’s chair, I recall that one of the General’s

former students had occasion to push his chair up a long,

steep hill that taxed his strength to the utmost. When

the top of the hill was reached, the former pupil, with a

glow of happiness on his face, exclaimed, “I am so glad

that I have been permitted to do something that was real

hard for the General before he dies!” While I was a student

at Hampton, the dormitories became so crowded that it

was impossible to find room for all who wanted to be

admitted. In order to help remedy the difficulty, the Gen-

eral conceived the plan of putting up tents to be used as

rooms. As soon as it became known that General Armstrong

would be pleased if some of the older students would live

in the tents during the winter, nearly every student in

Booker T. Washington school volunteered to go.

I was one of the volunteers. The winter that we spent in

those tents was an intensely cold one, and we suffered

severely—how much I am sure General Armstrong never

knew, because we made no complaints. It was enough for

us to know that we were pleasing General Armstrong, and

that we were making it possible for an additional number

of students to secure an education. More than once, dur-

ing a cold night, when a stiff gale would be blowing, our

tend was lifted bodily, and we would find ourselves in the

open air. The General would usually pay a visit to the

tents early in the morning, and his earnest, cheerful, en-

couraging voice would dispel any feeling of despondency.

I have spoken of my admiration for General Armstrong,

and yet he was but a type of that Christlike body of men

and women who went into the Negro schools at the close

of the war by the hundreds to assist in lifting up my race.

The history of the world fails to show a higher, purer, and

more unselfish class of men and women than those who

found their way into those Negro schools.

Life at Hampton was a constant revelation to me; was

constantly taking me into a new world. The matter of

having meals at regular hours, of eating on a tablecloth,

using a napkin, the use of the bath-tub and of the tooth-

brush, as well as the use of sheets upon the bed, were all

new to me.

I sometimes feel that almost the most valuable lesson I

got at the Hampton Institute was in the use and value of

the bath. I learned there for the first time some of its

value, not only in keeping the body healthy, but in inspir-

ing self-respect and promoting virtue. In all my travels in

the South and elsewhere since leaving Hampton I have

always in some way sought my daily bath. To get it some-

times when I have been the guest of my own people in a

single-roomed cabin has not always been easy to do, ex-

cept by slipping away to some stream in the woods. I

have always tried to teach my people that some provision

for bathing should be a part of every house.

For some time, while a student at Hampton, I pos-

sessed but a single pair of socks, but when I had worn

these till they became soiled, I would wash them at night

and hang them by the fire to dry, so that I might wear

UP FROM SLAVERY

them again the next morning.

The charge for my board at Hampton was ten dollars per

month. I was expected to pay a part of this in cash and to

work out the remainder. To meet this cash payment, as I

have stated, I had just fifty cents when I reached the

institution. Aside from a very few dollars that my brother

John was able to send me once in a while, I had no money

with which to pay my board. I was determined from the

first to make my work as janitor so valuable that my ser-

vices would be indispensable. This I succeeded in doing to

such an extent that I was soon informed that I would be

allowed the full cost of my board in return for my work.

The cost of tuition was seventy dollars a year. This, of

course, was wholly beyond my ability to provide. If I had

been compelled to pay the seventy dollars for tuition, in

addition to providing for my board, I would have been

compelled to leave the Hampton school. General

Armstrong, however, very kindly got Mr. S. Griffitts Mor-

gan, of New Bedford, Mass., to defray the cost of my

tuition during the whole time that I was at Hampton.

After I finished the course at Hampton and had entered

upon my lifework at Tuskegee, I had the pleasure of visit-

ing Mr. Morgan several times.

After having been for a while at Hampton, I found my-

self in difficulty because I did not have books and cloth-

ing. Usually, however, I got around the trouble about books

by borrowing from those who were more fortunate than

myself. As to clothes, when I reached Hampton I had

practically nothing. Everything that I possessed was in a

small hand satchel. My anxiety about clothing was in-

creased because of the fact that General Armstrong made

a personal inspection of the young men in ranks, to see

that their clothes were clean. Shoes had to be polished,

there must be no buttons off the clothing, and no grease-

spots. To wear one suit of clothes continually, while at

work and in the schoolroom, and at the same time keep it

clean, was rather a hard problem for me to solve. In some

way I managed to get on till the teachers learned that I

was in earnest and meant to succeed, and then some of

them were kind enough to see that I was partly supplied

with second-hand clothing that had been sent in barrels

from the North. These barrels proved a blessing to hun-

Booker T. Washington dreds of poor but deserving students. Without them I ques-

tion whether I should ever have gotten through Hampton.

When I first went to Hampton I do not recall that I had

ever slept in a bed that had two sheets on it. In those

days there were not many buildings there, and room was

very precious. There were seven other boys in the same

room with me; most of them, however, students who had

been there for some time. The sheets were quite a puzzle

to me. The first night I slept under both of them, and the

second night I slept on top of them; but by watching the

other boys I learned my lesson in this, and have been

trying to follow it ever since and to teach it to others.

I was among the youngest of the students who were in

Hampton at the time. Most of the students were men and

women—some as old as forty years of ago. As I now recall

the scene of my first year, I do not believe that one often

has the opportunity of coming into contact with three or

four hundred men and women who were so tremendously

in earnest as these men and women were. Every hour was

occupied in study or work. Nearly all had had enough

actual contact with the world to teach them the need of

education. Many of the older ones were, of course, too

old to master the text-books very thoroughly, and it was

often sad to watch their struggles; but they made up in

earnest much of what they lacked in books. Many of them

were as poor as I was, and, besides having to wrestle with

their books, they had to struggle with a poverty which

prevented their having the necessities of life. Many of

them had aged parents who were dependent upon them,

and some of them were men who had wives whose sup-

port in some way they had to provide for.

The great and prevailing idea that seemed to take pos-

session of every one was to prepare himself to lift up the

people at his home. No one seemed to think of himself.

And the officers and teachers, what a rare set of human

beings they were! They worked for the students night and

day, in seasons and out of season. They seemed happy

only when they were helping the students in some man-

ner. Whenever it is written—and I hope it will be—the

part that the Yankee teachers played in the education of

the Negroes immediately after the war will make one of

the most thrilling parts of the history off this country.

UP FROM SLAVERY

The time is not far distant when the whole South will

appreciate this service in a way that it has not yet been

able to do.

Chapter IV. Helping Others

A t the end of my first year at Hampton I was con

fronted with another difficulty. Most of the stu

dents went home to spend their vacation. I had

no money with which to go home, but I had to go some-

where. In those days very few students were permitted to

remain at the school during vacation. It made me feel

very sad and homesick to see the other students preparing

to leave and starting for home. I not only had no money

with which to go home, but I had none with which to go

anywhere.

In some way, however, I had gotten hold of an extra,

second-hand coat which I thought was a pretty valuable

coat. This I decided to sell, in order to get a little money

for travelling expenses. I had a good deal of boyish pride,

and I tried to hide, as far as I could, from the other

students the fact that I had no money and nowhere to go.

I made it known to a few people in the town of Hampton

that I had this coat to sell, and, after a good deal of

persuading, one coloured man promised to come to my

Booker T. Washington room to look the coat over and consider the matter of

buying it. This cheered my drooping spirits considerably.

Early the next morning my prospective customer appeared.

After looking the garment over carefully, he asked me how

much I wanted for it. I told him I thought it was worth

three dollars. He seemed to agree with me as to price, but

remarked in the most matter-of-fact way: “I tell you what

I will do; I will take the coat, and will pay you five cents,

cash down, and pay you the rest of the money just as

soon as I can get it.” It is not hard to imagine what my

feelings were at the time.

With this disappointment I gave up all hope of getting

out of the town of Hampton for my vacation work. I

wanted very much to go where I might secure work that

would at least pay me enough to purchase some much-

needed clothing and other necessities. In a few days prac-

tically all the students and teachers had left for their

homes, and this served to depress my spirits even more.

After trying for several days in and near the town of

Hampton, I finally secured work in a restaurant at For-

tress Monroe. The wages, however, were very little more

than my board. At night, and between meals, I found

considerable time for study and reading; and in this direc-

tion I improved myself very much during the summer.

When I left school at the end of my first year, I owed

the institution sixteen dollars that I had not been able to

work out. It was my greatest ambition during the summer

to save money enough with which to pay this debt. I felt

that this was a debt of honour, and that I could hardly

bring myself to the point of even trying to enter school

again till it was paid. I economized in every way that I

could think of—did my own washing, and went without

necessary garments—but still I found my summer vaca-

tion ending and I did not have the sixteen dollars.

One day, during the last week of my stay in the restau-

rant, I found under one of the tables a crisp, new ten-

dollar bill. I could hardly contain myself, I was so happy.

As it was not my place of business I felt it to be the

proper thing to show the money to the proprietor. This I

did. He seemed as glad as I was, but he coolly explained

to me that, as it was his place of business, he had a right

to keep the money, and he proceeded to do so. This, I

UP FROM SLAVERY

confess, was another pretty hard blow to me. I will not

say that I became discouraged, for as I now look back

over my life I do not recall that I ever became discour-

aged over anything that I set out to accomplish. I have

begun everything with the idea that I could succeed, and

I never had much patience with the multitudes of people

who are always ready to explain why one cannot succeed.

I determined to face the situation just as it was. At the

end of the week I went to the treasurer of the Hampton

Institute, General J.F.B. Marshall, and told him frankly

my condition. To my gratification he told me that I could

reenter the institution, and that he would trust me to pay

the debt when I could. During the second year I contin-

ued to work as a janitor.

The education that I received at Hampton out of the

text-books was but a small part of what I learned there.

One of the things that impressed itself upon me deeply,

the second year, was the unselfishness of the teachers. It

was hard for me to understand how any individuals could

bring themselves to the point where they could be so

happy in working for others. Before the end of the year, I

think I began learning that those who are happiest are

those who do the most for others. This lesson I have tried

to carry with me ever since.

I also learned a valuable lesson at Hampton by coming

into contact with the best breeds of live stock and fowls.

No student, I think, who has had the opportunity of do-

ing this could go out into the world and content himself

with the poorest grades.

Perhaps the most valuable thing that I got out of my

second year was an understanding of the use and value of

the Bible. Miss Nathalie Lord, one of the teachers, from

Portland, Me., taught me how to use and love the Bible.

Before this I had never cared a great deal about it, but

now I learned to love to read the Bible, not only for the

spiritual help which it gives, but on account of it as lit-

erature. The lessons taught me in this respect took such a

hold upon me that at the present time, when I am at

home, no matter how busy I am, I always make it a rule

to read a chapter or a portion of a chapter in the morn-

ing, before beginning the work of the day.

Whatever ability I may have as a public speaker I owe in

Booker T. Washington a measure to Miss Lord. When she found out that I had

some inclination in this direction, she gave me private

lessons in the matter of breathing, emphasis, and articu-

lation. Simply to be able to talk in public for the sake of

talking has never had the least attraction to me. In fact,

I consider that there is nothing so empty and unsatisfac-

tory as mere abstract public speaking; but from my early

childhood I have had a desire to do something to make

the world better, and then to be able to speak to the

world about that thing.

The debating societies at Hampton were a constant source

of delight to me. These were held on Saturday evening;

and during my whole life at Hampton I do not recall that

I missed a single meeting. I not only attended the weekly

debating society, but was instrumental in organizing an

additional society. I noticed that between the time when

supper was over and the time to begin evening study

there were about twenty minutes which the young men

usually spent in idle gossip. About twenty of us formed a

society for the purpose of utilizing this time in debate or

in practice in public speaking. Few persons ever derived

more happiness or benefit from the use of twenty minutes

of time than we did in this way.

At the end of my second year at Hampton, by the help

of some money sent me by my mother and brother John,

supplemented by a small gift from one of the teachers at

Hampton, I was enabled to return to my home in Malden,

West Virginia, to spend my vacation. When I reached home

I found that the salt-furnaces were not running, and that

the coal-mine was not being operated on account of the

miners being out on “strike.” This was something which,

it seemed, usually occurred whenever the men got two or

three months ahead in their savings. During the strike, of

course, they spent all that they had saved, and would

often return to work in debt at the same wages, or would

move to another mine at considerable expense. In either

case, my observations convinced me that the miners were

worse off at the end of the strike. Before the days of

strikes in that section of the country, I knew miners who

had considerable money in the bank, but as soon as the

professional labour agitators got control, the savings of

even the more thrifty ones began disappearing.

UP FROM SLAVERY

My mother and the other members of my family were,

of course, much rejoiced to see me and to note the

improvement that I had made during my two years’ ab-

sence. The rejoicing on the part of all classes of the

coloured people, and especially the older ones, over my

return, was almost pathetic. I had to pay a visit to each

family and take a meal with each, and at each place tell

the story of my experiences at Hampton. In addition to

this I had to speak before the church and Sunday-school,

and at various other places. The thing that I was most in

search of, though, work, I could not find. There was no

work on account of the strike. I spent nearly the whole

of the first month of my vacation in an effort to find

something to do by which I could earn money to pay my

way back to Hampton and save a little money to use

after reaching there.

Toward the end of the first month, I went to place a

considerable distance from my home, to try to find em-

ployment. I did not succeed, and it was night before I got

started on my return. When I had gotten within a mile or

so of my home I was so completely tired out that I could

not walk any farther, and I went into an old, abandoned

house to spend the remainder of the night. About three

o’clock in the morning my brother John found me asleep

in this house, and broke to me, as gently as he could, the

sad news that our dear mother had died during the night.

This seemed to me the saddest and blankest moment in

my life. For several years my mother had not been in good

health, but I had no idea, when I parted from her the

previous day, that I should never see her alive again. Be-

sides that, I had always had an intense desire to be with

her when she did pass away. One of the chief ambitions

which spurred me on at Hampton was that I might be

able to get to be in a position in which I could better

make my mother comfortable and happy. She had so often

expressed the wish that she might be permitted to live to

see her children educated and started out in the world.

In a very short time after the death of my mother our

little home was in confusion. My sister Amanda, although

she tried to do the best she could, was too young to know

anything about keeping house, and my stepfather was not

able to hire a housekeeper. Sometimes we had food cooked

Booker T. Washington for us, and sometimes we did not. I remember that more

than once a can of tomatoes and some crackers consti-

tuted a meal. Our clothing went uncared for, and every-

thing about our home was soon in a tumble-down condi-

tion. It seems to me that this was the most dismal period

of my life.

My good friend, Mrs. Ruffner, to whom I have already

referred, always made me welcome at her home, and as-

sisted me in many ways during this trying period. Before

the end of the vacation she gave me some work, and this,

together with work in a coal-mine at some distance from

my home, enabled me to earn a little money.

At one time it looked as if I would have to give up the

idea of returning to Hampton, but my heart was so set

on returning that I determined not to give up going

back without a struggle. I was very anxious to secure

some clothes for the winter, but in this I was disap-

pointed, except for a few garments which my brother

John secured for me. Notwithstanding my need of money

and clothing, I was very happy in the fact that I had

secured enough money to pay my travelling expenses

back to Hampton. Once there, I knew that I could make

myself so useful as a janitor that I could in some way

get through the school year.

Three weeks before the time for the opening of the term

at Hampton, I was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter

from my good friend Miss Mary F. Mackie, the lady princi-

pal, asking me to return to Hampton two weeks before

the opening of the school, in order that I might assist her

in cleaning the buildings and getting things in order for

the new school year. This was just the opportunity I wanted.

It gave me a chance to secure a credit in the treasurer’s

office. I started for Hampton at once.

During these two weeks I was taught a lesson which I

shall never forget. Miss Mackie was a member of one of

the oldest and most cultured families of the North, and

yet for two weeks she worked by my side cleaning win-

dows, dusting rooms, putting beds in order, and what

not. She felt that things would not be in condition for the

opening of school unless every window-pane was perfectly

clean, and she took the greatest satisfaction in helping to

clean them herself. The work which I have described she

UP FROM SLAVERY

did every year that I was at Hampton.

It was hard for me at this time to understand how a

woman of her education and social standing could take

such delight in performing such service, in order to as-

sist in the elevation of an unfortunate race. Ever since

then I have had no patience with any school for my race

in the South which did not teach its students the dig-

nity of labour.

During my last year at Hampton every minute of my

time that was not occupied with my duties as janitor was

devoted to hard study. I was determined, if possible, to

make such a record in my class as would cause me to be

placed on the “honour roll” of Commencement speakers.

This I was successful in doing. It was June of 1875 when

I finished the regular course of study at Hampton. The

greatest benefits that I got out of my at the Hampton

Institute, perhaps, may be classified under two heads:—

First was contact with a great man, General S.C.

Armstrong, who, I repeat, was, in my opinion, the rarest,

strongest, and most beautiful character that it has ever

been my privilege to meet.

Second, at Hampton, for the first time, I learned what

education was expected to do for an individual. Before

going there I had a good deal of the then rather prevalent

idea among our people that to secure an education meant

to have a good, easy time, free from all necessity for

manual labour. At Hampton I not only learned that it was

not a disgrace to labour, but learned to love labour, not

alone for its financial value, but for labour’s own sake and

for the independence and self-reliance which the ability

to do something which the world wants done brings. At

that institution I got my first taste of what it meant to

live a life of unselfishness, my first knowledge of the fact

that the happiest individuals are those who do the most

to make others useful and happy.

I was completely out of money when I graduated. In

company with our other Hampton students, I secured a

place as a table waiter in a summer hotel in Connecticut,

and managed to borrow enough money with which to get

there. I had not been in this hotel long before I found out

that I knew practically nothing about waiting on a hotel

table. The head waiter, however, supposed that I was an

Booker T. Washington accomplished waiter. He soon gave me charge of the table

at which their sat four or five wealthy and rather aristo-

cratic people. My ignorance of how to wait upon them

was so apparent that they scolded me in such a severe

manner that I became frightened and left their table, leav-

ing them sitting there without food. As a result of this I

was reduced from the position of waiter to that of a dish-

carrier.

But I determined to learn the business of waiting, and

did so within a few weeks and was restored to my former

position. I have had the satisfaction of being a guest in

this hotel several times since I was a waiter there.

At the close of the hotel season I returned to my former

home in Malden, and was elected to teach the coloured

school at that place. This was the beginning of one of the

happiest periods of my life. I now felt that I had the oppor-

tunity to help the people of my home town to a higher life.

I felt from the first that mere book education was not all

that the young people of that town needed. I began my

work at eight o’clock in the morning, and, as a rule, it did

not end until ten o’clock at night. In addition to the usual

routine of teaching, I taught the pupils to comb their hair,

and to keep their hands and faces clean, as well as their

clothing. I gave special attention to teaching them the

proper use of the tooth-brush and the bath. In all my

teaching I have watched carefully the influence of the tooth-

brush, and I am convinced that there are few single agen-

cies of civilization that are more far-reaching.

There were so many of the older boys and girls in the

town, as well as men and women, who had to work in the

daytime and still were craving an opportunity for an edu-

cation, that I soon opened a night-school. From the first,

this was crowded every night, being about as large as the

school that I taught in the day. The efforts of some of the

men and women, who in many cases were over fifty years

of age, to learn, were in some cases very pathetic.

My day and night school work was not all that I under-

took. I established a small reading-room and a debating

society. On Sundays I taught two Sunday-schools, one in

the town of Malden in the afternoon, and the other in the

morning at a place three miles distant from Malden. In

addition to this, I gave private lessons to several young

UP FROM SLAVERY

men whom I was fitting to send to the Hampton Insti-

tute. Without regard to pay and with little thought of it,

I taught any one who wanted to learn anything that I

could teach him. I was supremely happy in the opportu-

nity of being able to assist somebody else. I did receive,

however, a small salary from the public fund, for my work

as a public-school teacher.

During the time that I was a student at Hampton my

older brother, John, not only assisted me all that he could,

but worked all of the time in the coal-mines in order to

support the family. He willingly neglected his own educa-

tion that he might help me. It was my earnest wish to

help him to prepare to enter Hampton, and to save money

to assist him in his expenses there. Both of these objects

I was successful in accomplishing. In three years my brother

finished the course at Hampton, and he is now holding

the important position of Superintendent of Industries at

Tuskegee. When he returned from Hampton, we both com-

bined our efforts and savings to send our adopted brother,

James, through the Hampton Institute. This we succeeded

in doing, and he is now the postmaster at the Tuskegee

Institute. The year 1877, which was my second year of

teaching in Malden, I spent very much as I did the first.

It was while my home was at Malden that what was known

as the “Ku Klux Klan” was in the height of its activity. The

“Ku Klux” were bands of men who had joined themselves

together for the purpose of regulating the conduct of the

coloured people, especially with the object of preventing

the members of the race from exercising any influence in

politics. They corresponded somewhat to the “patrollers”

of whom I used to hear a great deal during the days of

slavery, when I was a small boy. The “patrollers” were bands

of white men—usually young men—who were organized

largely for the purpose of regulating the conduct of the

slaves at night in such matters as preventing the slaves

from going from one plantation to another without passes,

and for preventing them from holding any kind of meetings

without permission and without the presence at these meet-

ings of at least one white man.

Like the “patrollers” the “Ku Klux” operated almost wholly

at night. They were, however, more cruel than the “pa-

trollers.” Their objects, in the main, were to crush out the

Booker T. Washington political aspirations of the Negroes, but they did not con-

fine themselves to this, because schoolhouses as well as

churches were burned by them, and many innocent per-

sons were made to suffer. During this period not a few

coloured people lost their lives.

As a young man, the acts of these lawless bands made a

great impression upon me. I saw one open battle take

place at Malden between some of the coloured and white

people. There must have been not far from a hundred

persons engaged on each side; many on both sides were

seriously injured, among them General Lewis Ruffner, the

husband of my friend Mrs. Viola Ruffner. General Ruffner

tried to defend the coloured people, and for this he was

knocked down and so seriously wounded that he never

completely recovered. It seemed to me as I watched this

struggle between members of the two races, that there

was no hope for our people in this country. The “Ku Klux”

period was, I think, the darkest part of the Reconstruc-

tion days.

I have referred to this unpleasant part of the history of

the South simply for the purpose of calling attention to

the great change that has taken place since the days of

the “Ku Klux.” To-day there are no such organizations in

the South, and the fact that such ever existed is almost

forgotten by both races. There are few places in the South

now where public sentiment would permit such organiza-

tions to exist.

UP FROM SLAVERY

Chapter V. The Reconstruction Period

T he years from 1867 to 1878 I think may be called

the period of Reconstruction. This included the time

that I spent as a student at Hampton and as a

teacher in West Virginia. During the whole of the Recon-

struction period two ideas were constantly agitating in

the minds of the coloured people, or, at least, in the

minds of a large part of the race. One of these was the

craze for Greek and Latin learning, and the other was a

desire to hold office.

It could not have been expected that a people who had

spent generations in slavery, and before that generations in

the darkest heathenism, could at first form any proper con-

ception of what an education meant. In every part of the

South, during the Reconstruction period, schools, both day

and night, were filled to overflowing with people of all ages

and conditions, some being as far along in age as sixty and

seventy years. The ambition to secure an education was

most praiseworthy and encouraging. The idea, however, was

too prevalent that, as soon as one secured a little educa-

tion, in some unexplainable way he would be free from

most of the hardships of the world, and, at any rate, could

live without manual labour. There was a further feeling that

a knowledge, however little, of the Greek and Latin lan-

guages would make one a very superior human being, some-

thing bordering almost on the supernatural. I remember

that the first coloured man whom I saw who knew some-

thing about foreign languages impressed me at the time as

being a man of all others to be envied.

Naturally, most of our people who received some little

education became teachers or preachers. While among those

two classes there were many capable, earnest, godly men

and women, still a large proportion took up teaching or

preaching as an easy way to make a living. Many became

teachers who could do little more than write their names.

I remember there came into our neighbourhood one of

this class, who was in search of a school to teach, and the

question arose while he was there as to the shape of the

earth and how he could teach the children concerning the

subject. He explained his position in the matter by saying

that he was prepared to teach that the earth was either

Booker T. Washington flat or round, according to the preference of a majority of

his patrons.

The ministry was the profession that suffered most—

and still suffers, though there has been great improve-

ment—on account of not only ignorant but in many

cases immoral men who claimed that they were “called

to preach.” In the earlier days of freedom almost every

coloured man who learned to read would receive “a call

to preach” within a few days after he began reading. At

my home in West Virginia the process of being called to

the ministry was a very interesting one. Usually the “call”

came when the individual was sitting in church. Without

warning the one called would fall upon the floor as if

struck by a bullet, and would lie there for hours, speech-

less and motionless. Then the news would spread all

through the neighborhood that this individual had re-

ceived a “call.” If he were inclined to resist the sum-

mons, he would fall or be made to fall a second or third

time. In the end he always yielded to the call. While I

wanted an education badly, I confess that in my youth I

had a fear that when I had learned to read and write very

well I would receive one of these “calls”; but, for some

reason, my call never came.

When we add the number of wholly ignorant men who

preached or “exhorted” to that of those who possessed

something of an education, it can be seen at a glance

that the supply of ministers was large. In fact, some time

ago I knew a certain church that had a total membership

of about two hundred, and eighteen of that number were

ministers. But, I repeat, in many communities in the South

the character of the ministry is being improved, and I

believe that within the next two or three decades a very

large proportion of the unworthy ones will have disap-

peared. The “calls” to preach, I am glad to say, are not

nearly so numerous now as they were formerly, and the

calls to some industrial occupation are growing more nu-

merous. The improvement that has taken place in the char-

acter of the teachers is even more marked than in the case

of the ministers.

During the whole of the Reconstruction period our people

throughout the South looked to the Federal Government

for everything, very much as a child looks to its mother.

UP FROM SLAVERY

This was not unnatural. The central government gave them

freedom, and the whole Nation had been enriched for more

than two centuries by the labour of the Negro. Even as a

youth, and later in manhood, I had the feeling that it was

cruelly wrong in the central government, at the beginning

of our freedom, to fail to make some provision for the

general education of our people in addition to what the

states might do, so that the people would be the better

prepared for the duties of citizenship.

It is easy to find fault, to remark what might have

been done, and perhaps, after all, and under all the cir-

cumstances, those in charge of the conduct of affairs

did the only thing that could be done at the time. Still,

as I look back now over the entire period of our free-

dom, I cannot help feeling that it would have been wiser

if some plan could have been put in operation which

would have made the possession of a certain amount of

education or property, or both, a test for the exercise of

the franchise, and a way provided by which this test

should be made to apply honestly and squarely to both

the white and black races.

Though I was but little more than a youth during the

period of Reconstruction, I had the feeling that mistakes

were being made, and that things could not remain in the

condition that they were in then very long. I felt that the

Reconstruction policy, so far as it related to my race, was in

a large measure on a false foundation, was artificial and

forced. In many cases it seemed to me that the ignorance

of my race was being used as a tool with which to help

white men into office, and that there was an element in the

North which wanted to punish the Southern white men by

forcing the Negro into positions over the heads of the South-

ern whites. I felt that the Negro would be the one to suffer

for this in the end. Besides, the general political agitation

drew the attention of our people away from the more fun-

damental matters of perfecting themselves in the indus-

tries at their doors and in securing property.

The temptations to enter political life were so alluring

that I came very near yielding to them at one time, but I

was kept from doing so by the feeling that I would be

helping in a more substantial way by assisting in the lay-

ing of the foundation of the race through a generous edu-

Booker T. Washington cation of the hand, head, and heart. I saw coloured men

who were members of the state legislatures, and county

officers, who, in some cases, could not read or write, and

whose morals were as weak as their education. Not long

ago, when passing through the streets of a certain city in

the South, I heard some brick-masons calling out, from

the top of a two-story brick building on which they were

working, for the “Governor” to “hurry up and bring up

some more bricks.” Several times I heard the command,

“Hurry up, Governor!” “Hurry up, Governor!” My curiosity

was aroused to such an extent that I made inquiry as to

who the “Governor” was, and soon found that he was a

coloured man who at one time had held the position of

Lieutenant-Governor of his state.

But not all the coloured people who were in office

during Reconstruction were unworthy of their positions,

by any means. Some of them, like the late Senator B.K.

Bruce, Governor Pinchback, and many others, were

strong, upright, useful men. Neither were all the class

designated as carpetbaggers dishonourable men. Some

of them, like ex-Governor Bullock, of Georgia, were men

of high character and usefulness.

Of course the coloured people, so largely without edu-

cation, and wholly without experience in government, made

tremendous mistakes, just as many people similarly situ-

ated would have done. Many of the Southern whites have

a feeling that, if the Negro is permitted to exercise his

political rights now to any degree, the mistakes of the

Reconstruction period will repeat themselves. I do not

think this would be true, because the Negro is a much

stronger and wiser man than he was thirty-five years ago,

and he is fast learning the lesson that he cannot afford to

act in a manner that will alienate his Southern white

neighbours from him. More and more I am convinced that

the final solution of the political end of our race problem

will be for each state that finds it necessary to change the

law bearing upon the franchise to make the law apply

with absolute honesty, and without opportunity for double

dealing or evasion, to both races alike. Any other course

my daily observation in the South convinces me, will be

unjust to the Negro, unjust to the white man, and unfair

to the rest of the state in the Union, and will be, like

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slavery, a sin that at some time we shall have to pay for.

In the fall of 1878, after having taught school in Malden

for two years, and after I had succeeded in preparing sev-

eral of the young men and women, besides my two broth-

ers, to enter the Hampton Institute, I decided to spend

some months in study at Washington, D.C. I remained

there for eight months. I derived a great deal of benefit

from the studies which I pursued, and I came into con-

tact with some strong men and women. At the institution

I attended there was no industrial training given to the

students, and I had an opportunity of comparing the in-

fluence of an institution with no industrial training with

that of one like the Hampton Institute, that emphasizes

the industries. At this school I found the students, in

most cases, had more money, were better dressed, wore

the latest style of all manner of clothing, and in some

cases were more brilliant mentally. At Hampton it was a

standing rule that, while the institution would be respon-

sible for securing some one to pay the tuition for the

students, the men and women themselves must provide

for their own board, books, clothing, and room wholly by

work, or partly by work and partly in cash. At the institu-

tion at which I now was, I found that a large portion of

the students by some means had their personal expenses

paid for them. At Hampton the student was constantly

making the effort through the industries to help himself,

and that very effort was of immense value in character-

building. The students at the other school seemed to be

less self-dependent. They seemed to give more attention

to mere outward appearances. In a word, they did not

appear to me to be beginning at the bottom, on a real,

solid foundation, to the extent that they were at Hamp-

ton. They knew more about Latin and Greek when they

left school, but they seemed to know less about life and

its conditions as they would meet it at their homes. Hav-

ing lived for a number of years in the midst of comfort-

able surroundings, they were not as much inclined as the

Hampton students to go into the country districts of the

South, where there was little of comfort, to take up work

for our people, and they were more inclined to yield to

the temptation to become hotel waiters and Pullman-car

porters as their life-work.

Booker T. Washington During the time I was a student at Washington the city

was crowded with coloured people, many of whom had

recently come from the South. A large proportion of these

people had been drawn to Washington because they felt

that they could lead a life of ease there. Others had se-

cured minor government positions, and still another large

class was there in the hope of securing Federal positions.

A number of coloured men—some of them very strong

and brilliant—were in the House of Representatives at

that time, and one, the Hon. B.K. Bruce, was in the Sen-

ate. All this tended to make Washington an attractive

place for members of the coloured race. Then, too, they

knew that at all times they could have the protection of

the law in the District of Columbia. The public schools in

Washington for coloured people were better then than

they were elsewhere. I took great interest in studying the

life of our people there closely at that time. I found that

while among them there was a large element of substan-

tial, worthy citizens, there was also a superficiality about

the life of a large class that greatly alarmed me. I saw

young coloured men who were not earning more than four

dollars a week spend two dollars or more for a buggy on

Sunday to ride up and down Pennsylvania Avenue in, in

order that they might try to convince the world that they

were worth thousands. I saw other young men who re-

ceived seventy-five or one hundred dollars per month from

the Government, who were in debt at the end of every

month. I saw men who but a few months previous were

members of Congress, then without employment and in

poverty. Among a large class there seemed to be a depen-

dence upon the Government for every conceivable thing.

The members of this class had little ambition to create a

position for themselves, but wanted the Federal officials

to create one for them. How many times I wished them,

and have often wished since, that by some power of magic

I might remove the great bulk of these people into the

county districts and plant them upon the soil, upon the

solid and never deceptive foundation of Mother Nature,

where all nations and races that have ever succeeded have

gotten their start,—a start that at first may be slow and

toilsome, but one that nevertheless is real.

In Washington I saw girls whose mothers were earning

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their living by laundrying. These girls were taught by their

mothers, in rather a crude way it is true, the industry of

laundrying. Later, these girls entered the public schools

and remained there perhaps six or eight years. When the

public school course was finally finished, they wanted more

costly dresses, more costly hats and shoes. In a word,

while their wants have been increased, their ability to

supply their wants had not been increased in the same

degree. On the other hand, their six or eight years of book

education had weaned them away from the occupation of

their mothers. The result of this was in too many cases

that the girls went to the bad. I often thought how much

wiser it would have been to give these girls the same

amount of maternal training—and I favour any kind of

training, whether in the languages or mathematics, that

gives strength and culture to the mind —but at the same

time to give them the most thorough training in the lat-

est and best methods of laundrying and other kindred

occupations.

Chapter VI. Black Race And Red Race

D uring the year that I spent in Washington, and for

some little time before this, there had been con

siderable agitation in the state of West Virginia

over the question of moving the capital of the state from

Wheeling to some other central point. As a result of this,

the Legislature designated three cities to be voted upon

by the citizens of the state as the permanent seat of

government. Among these cities was Charleston, only five

miles from Malden, my home. At the close of my school

year in Washington I was very pleasantly surprised to re-

ceive, from a committee of three white people in Charles-

ton, an invitation to canvass the state in the interests of

that city. This invitation I accepted, and spent nearly

three months in speaking in various parts of the state.

Charleston was successful in winning the prize, and is now

the permanent seat of government.

The reputation that I made as a speaker during this

campaign induced a number of persons to make an ear-

nest effort to get me to enter political life, but I refused,

Booker T. Washington still believing that I could find other service which would

prove of more permanent value to my race. Even then I

had a strong feeling that what our people most needed

was to get a foundation in education, industry, and prop-

erty, and for this I felt that they could better afford to

strive than for political preferment. As for my individual

self, it appeared to me to be reasonably certain that I

could succeed in political life, but I had a feeling that it

would be a rather selfish kind of success—individual suc-

cess at the cost of failing to do my duty in assisting in

laying a foundation for the masses.

At this period in the progress of our race a very large

proportion of the young men who went to school or to

college did so with the expressed determination to pre-

pare themselves to be great lawyers, or Congressmen, and

many of the women planned to become music teachers;

but I had a reasonably fixed idea, even at that early pe-

riod in my life, that there was a need for something to be

done to prepare the way for successful lawyers, Congress-

men, and music teachers.

I felt that the conditions were a good deal like those of

an old coloured man, during the days of slavery, who wanted

to learn how to play on the guitar. In his desire to take

guitar lessons he applied to one of his young masters to

teach him, but the young man, not having much faith in

the ability of the slave to master the guitar at his age,

sought to discourage him by telling him: “Uncle Jake, I will

give you guitar lessons; but, Jake, I will have to charge you

three dollars for the first lesson, two dollars for the second

lesson, and one dollar for the third lesson. But I will charge

you only twenty-five cents for the last lesson.”

Uncle Jake answered: “All right, boss, I hires you on

dem terms. But, boss! I wants yer to be sure an’ give me

dat las’ lesson first.”

Soon after my work in connection with the removal of

the capital was finished, I received an invitation which

gave me great joy and which at the same time was a very

pleasant surprise. This was a letter from General Armstrong,

inviting me to return to Hampton at the next Commence-

ment to deliver what was called the “post-graduate ad-

dress.” This was an honour which I had not dreamed of

receiving. With much care I prepared the best address

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that I was capable of. I chose for my subject “The Force

That Wins.”

As I returned to Hampton for the purpose of delivering

this address, I went over much of the same ground—now,

however, covered entirely by railroad—that I had traversed

nearly six years before, when I first sought entrance into

Hampton Institute as a student. Now I was able to ride

the whole distance in the train. I was constantly con-

trasting this with my first journey to Hampton. I think I

may say, without seeming egotism, that it is seldom that

five years have wrought such a change in the life and

aspirations of an individual.

At Hampton I received a warm welcome from teachers

and students. I found that during my absence from Hamp-

ton the institute each year had been getting closer to the

real needs and conditions of our people; that the indus-

trial reaching, as well as that of the academic depart-

ment, had greatly improved. The plan of the school was

not modelled after that of any other institution then in

existence, but every improvement was made under the

magnificent leadership of General Armstrong solely with

the view of meeting and helping the needs of our people

as they presented themselves at the time. Too often, it

seems to me, in missionary and educational work among

underdeveloped races, people yield to the temptation of

doing that which was done a hundred years before, or is

being done in other communities a thousand miles away.

The temptation often is to run each individual through a

certain educational mould, regardless of the condition of

the subject or the end to be accomplished. This was not

so at Hampton Institute.

The address which I delivered on Commencement Day

seems to have pleased every one, and many kind and en-

couraging words were spoken to me regarding it. Soon

after my return to my home in West Virginia, where I had

planned to continue teaching, I was again surprised to

receive a letter from General Armstrong, asking me to

return to Hampton partly as a teacher and partly to pur-

sue some supplementary studies. This was in the summer

of 1879. Soon after I began my first teaching in West

Virginia I had picked out four of the brightest and most

promising of my pupils, in addition to my two brothers,

Booker T. Washington to whom I have already referred, and had given them

special attention, with the view of having them go to

Hampton. They had gone there, and in each case the teach-

ers had found them so well prepared that they entered

advanced classes. This fact, it seems, led to my being

called back to Hampton as a teacher. One of the young

men that I sent to Hampton in this way is now Dr. Samuel

E. Courtney, a successful physician in Boston, and a mem-

ber of the School Board of that city.

About this time the experiment was being tried for the

first time, by General Armstrong, of education Indians at

Hampton. Few people then had any confidence in the

ability of the Indians to receive education and to profit

by it. General Armstrong was anxious to try the experi-

ment systematically on a large scale. He secured from the

reservations in the Western states over one hundred wild

and for the most part perfectly ignorant Indians, the greater

proportion of whom were young men. The special work

which the General desired me to do was be a sort of “house

father” to the Indian young men—that is, I was to live in

the building with them and have the charge of their disci-

pline, clothing, rooms, and so on. This was a very tempt-

ing offer, but I had become so much absorbed in my work

in West Virginia that I dreaded to give it up. However, I

tore myself away from it. I did not know how to refuse to

perform any service that General Armstrong desired of me.

On going to Hampton, I took up my residence in a

building with about seventy-five Indian youths. I was the

only person in the building who was not a member of

their race. At first I had a good deal of doubt about my

ability to succeed. I knew that the average Indian felt

himself above the white man, and, of course, he felt him-

self far above the Negro, largely on account of the fact of

the Negro having submitted to slavery—a thing which

the Indian would never do. The Indians, in the Indian

Territory, owned a large number of slaves during the days

of slavery. Aside from this, there was a general feeling

that the attempt to education and civilize the red men at

Hampton would be a failure. All this made me proceed

very cautiously, for I felt keenly the great responsibility.

But I was determined to succeed. It was not long before

I had the complete confidence of the Indians, and not

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only this, but I think I am safe in saying that I had their

love and respect. I found that they were about like any

other human beings; that they responded to kind treat-

ment and resented ill-treatment. They were continually

planning to do something that would add to my happi-

ness and comfort. The things that they disliked most, I

think, were to have their long hair cut, to give up wearing

their blankets, and to cease smoking; but no white Ameri-

can ever thinks that any other race is wholly civilized

until he wears the white man’s clothes, eats the white

man’s food, speaks the white man’s language, and pro-

fesses the white man’s religion.

When the difficulty of learning the English language was

subtracted, I found that in the matter of learning trades

and in mastering academic studies there was little differ-

ence between the coloured and Indian students. It was a

constant delight to me to note the interest which the

coloured students took in trying to help the Indians in

every way possible. There were a few of the coloured stu-

dents who felt that the Indians ought not to be admitted

to Hampton, but these were in the minority. Whenever

they were asked to do so, the Negro students gladly took

the Indians as room-mates, in order that they might teach

them to speak English and to acquire civilized habits.

I have often wondered if there was a white institution in

this country whose students would have welcomed the in-

coming of more than a hundred companions of another

race in the cordial way that these black students at Hamp-

ton welcomed the red ones. How often I have wanted to

say to white students that they lift themselves up in pro-

portion as they help to lift others, and the more unfortu-

nate the race, and the lower in the scale of civilization, the

more does one raise one’s self by giving the assistance.

This reminds me of a conversation which I once had

with the Hon. Frederick Douglass. At one time Mr. Douglass

was travelling in the state of Pennsylvania, and was forced,

on account of his colour, to ride in the baggage-car, in

spite of the fact that he had paid the same price for his

passage that the other passengers had paid. When some

of the white passengers went into the baggage-car to

console Mr. Douglass, and one of them said to him: “I am

sorry, Mr. Douglass, that you have been degraded in this

Booker T. Washington manner,” Mr. Douglass straightened himself up on the box

upon which he was sitting, and replied: “They cannot de-

grade Frederick Douglass. The soul that is within me no

man can degrade. I am not the one that is being degraded

on account of this treatment, but those who are inflicting

it upon me.”

In one part of the country, where the law demands the

separation of the races on the railroad trains, I saw at one

time a rather amusing instance which showed how diffi-

cult it sometimes is to know where the black begins and

the white ends.

There was a man who was well known in his community as

a Negro, but who was so white that even an expert would

have hard work to classify him as a black man. This man

was riding in the part of the train set aside for the coloured

passengers. When the train conductor reached him, he

showed at once that he was perplexed. If the man was a

Negro, the conductor did not want to send him to the

white people’s coach; at the same time, if he was a white

man, the conductor did not want to insult him by asking

him if he was a Negro. The official looked him over care-

fully, examining his hair, eyes, nose, and hands, but still

seemed puzzled. Finally, to solve the difficulty, he stooped

over and peeped at the man’s feet. When I saw the conduc-

tor examining the feet of the man in question, I said to

myself, “That will settle it;” and so it did, for the trainman

promptly decided that the passenger was a Negro, and let

him remain where he was. I congratulated myself that my

race was fortunate in not losing one of its members.

My experience has been that the time to test a true gentle-

man is to observe him when he is in contact with individu-

als of a race that is less fortunate than his own. This is

illustrated in no better way than by observing the conduct

of the old-school type of Southern gentleman when he is in

contact with his former salves or their descendants.

An example of what I mean is shown in a story told of

George Washington, who, meeting a coloured man in the

road once, who politely lifted his hat, lifted his own in

return. Some of his white friends who saw the incident

criticised Washington for his action. In reply to their criti-

cism George Washington said: “Do you suppose that I am

going to permit a poor, ignorant, coloured man to be

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more polite than I am?”

While I was in charge of the Indian boys at Hampton, I

had one or two experiences which illustrate the curious

workings of caste in America. One of the Indian boys was

taken ill, and it became my duty to take him to Washing-

ton, deliver him over to the Secretary of the Interior, and

get a receipt for him, in order that he might be returned

to his Western reservation. At that time I was rather igno-

rant of the ways of the world. During my journey to Wash-

ington, on a steamboat, when the bell rang for dinner, I

was careful to wait and not enter the dining room until

after the greater part of the passengers had finished their

meal. Then, with my charge, I went to the dining saloon.

The man in charge politely informed me that the Indian

could be served, but that I could not. I never could un-

derstand how he knew just where to draw the colour line,

since the Indian and I were of about the same complex-

ion. The steward, however, seemed to be an expert in this

manner. I had been directed by the authorities at Hamp-

ton to stop at a certain hotel in Washington with my

charge, but when I went to this hotel the clerk stated

that he would be glad to receive the Indian into the house,

but said that he could not accommodate me.

An illustration of something of this same feeling came

under my observation afterward. I happened to find my-

self in a town in which so much excitement and indigna-

tion were being expressed that it seemed likely for a time

that there would be a lynching. The occasion of the trouble

was that a dark-skinned man had stopped at the local

hotel. Investigation, however, developed the fact that

this individual was a citizen of Morocco, and that while

travelling in this country he spoke the English language.

As soon as it was learned that he was not an American

Negro, all the signs of indignation disappeared. The man

who was the innocent cause of the excitement, though,

found it prudent after that not to speak English.

At the end of my first year with the Indians there came

another opening for me at Hampton, which, as I look

back over my life now, seems to have come providentially,

to help to prepare me for my work at Tuskegee later. Gen-

eral Armstrong had found out that there was quite a num-

ber of young coloured men and women who were intensely

Booker T. Washington in earnest in wishing to get an education, but who were

prevented from entering Hampton Institute because they

were too poor to be able to pay any portion of the cost of

their board, or even to supply themselves with books. He

conceived the idea of starting a night-school in connec-

tion with the Institute, into which a limited number of

the most promising of these young men and women would

be received, on condition that they were to work for ten

hours during the day, and attend school for two hours at

night. They were to be paid something above the cost of

their board for their work. The greater part of their earn-

ings was to be reserved in the school’s treasury as a fund

to be drawn on to pay their board when they had become

students in the day-school, after they had spent one or

two years in the night-school. In this way they would

obtain a start in their books and a knowledge of some

trade or industry, in addition to the other far-reaching

benefits of the institution.

General Armstrong asked me to take charge of the night-

school, and I did so. At the beginning of this school there

were about twelve strong, earnest men and women who

entered the class. During the day the greater part of the

young men worked in the school’s sawmill, and the young

men worked in the laundry. The work was not easy in

either place, but in all my teaching I never taught pupils

who gave me much genuine satisfaction as these did. They

were good students, and mastered their work thoroughly.

They were so much in earnest that only the ringing of the

retiring-bell would make them stop studying, and often

they would urge me to continue the lessons after the

usual hour for going to bed had come.

These students showed so much earnestness, both in

their hard work during the day, as well as in their applica-

tion to their studies at night, that I gave them the name

of “The Plucky Class”—a name which soon grew popular

and spread throughout the institution. After a student

had been in the night-school long enough to prove what

was in him, I gave him a printed certificate which read

something like this:—

“This is to certify that James Smith is a member of The

Plucky Class of the Hampton Institute, and is in good and

regular standing.”

UP FROM SLAVERY

The students prized these certificates highly, and they

added greatly to the popularity of the night-school. Within

a few weeks this department had grown to such an extent

that there were about twenty-five students in attendance.

I have followed the course of many of these twenty-five

men and women ever since then, and they are now hold-

ing important and useful positions in nearly every part of

the South. The night-school at Hampton, which started

with only twelve students, now numbers between three

and four hundred, and is one of the permanent and most

important features of the institution.

Chapter VII. Early Days At Tuskegee

D uring the time that I had charge of the Indians

and the night-school at Hampton, I pursued some

studies myself, under the direction of the instruc-

tors there. One of these instructors was the Rev. Dr. H.B.

Frissell, the present Principal of the Hampton Institute,

General Armstrong’s successor.

In May, 1881, near the close of my first year in teaching

the night-school, in a way that I had not dared expect,

the opportunity opened for me to begin my life-work.

One night in the chapel, after the usual chapel exercises

were over, General Armstrong referred to the fact that he

had received a letter from some gentlemen in Alabama

asking him to recommend some one to take charge of

what was to be a normal school for the coloured people in

the little town of Tuskegee in that state. These gentlemen

seemed to take it for granted that no coloured man suit-

able for the position could be secured, and they were

expecting the General to recommend a white man for the

place. The next day General Armstrong sent for me to

Booker T. Washington come to his office, and, much to my surprise, asked me if

I thought I could fill the position in Alabama. I told him

that I would be willing to try. Accordingly, he wrote to

the people who had applied to him for the information,

that he did not know of any white man to suggest, but if

they would be willing to take a coloured man, he had one

whom he could recommend. In this letter he gave them

my name.

Several days passed before anything more was heard about

the matter. Some time afterward, one Sunday evening

during the chapel exercises, a messenger came in and

handed the general a telegram. At the end of the exercises

he read the telegram to the school. In substance, these

were its words: “Booker T. Washington will suit us. Send

him at once.”

There was a great deal of joy expressed among the stu-

dents and teachers, and I received very hearty congratu-

lations. I began to get ready at once to go to Tuskegee. I

went by way of my old home in West Virginia, where I

remained for several days, after which I proceeded to

Tuskegee. I found Tuskegee to be a town of about two

thousand inhabitants, nearly one-half of whom were

coloured. It was in what was known as the Black Belt of

the South. In the county in which Tuskegee is situated

the coloured people outnumbered the whites by about

three to one. In some of the adjoining and near-by coun-

ties the proportion was not far from six coloured persons

to one white.

I have often been asked to define the term “Black Belt.”

So far as I can learn, the term was first used to desig-

nated a part of the country which was distinguished by

the colour of the soil. The part of the country possessing

this thick, dark, and naturally rich soil was, of course, the

part of the South where the slaves were most profitable,

and consequently they were taken there in the largest

numbers. Later, and especially since the war, the term

seems to be used wholly in a political sense—that is, to

designate the counties where the black people outnumber

the white.

Before going to Tuskegee I had expected to find there a

building and all the necessary apparatus ready for me to

begin teaching. To my disappointment, I found nothing

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of the kind. I did find, though, that which no costly build-

ing and apparatus can supply,—hundreds of hungry, ear-

nest souls who wanted to secure knowledge.

Tuskegee seemed an ideal place for the school. It was in

the midst of the great bulk of the Negro population, and

was rather secluded, being five miles from the main line

of railroad, with which it was connected by a short line.

During the days of slavery, and since, the town had been

a centre for the education of the white people. This was

an added advantage, for the reason that I found the white

people possessing a degree of culture and education that

is not surpassed by many localities. While the coloured

people were ignorant, they had not, as a rule, degraded

and weakened their bodies by vices such as are common

to the lower class of people in the large cities. In general,

I found the relations between the two races pleasant. For

example, the largest, and I think at that time the only

hardware store in the town was owned and operated jointly

by a coloured man and a white man. This copartnership

continued until the death of the white partner.

I found that about a year previous to my going to

Tuskegee some of the coloured people who had heard some-

thing of the work of education being done at Hampton

had applied to the state Legislature, through their repre-

sentatives, for a small appropriation to be used in start-

ing a normal school in Tuskegee. This request the Legisla-

ture had complied with to the extent of granting an an-

nual appropriation of two thousand dollars. I soon learned,

however, that this money could be used only for the pay-

ment of the salaries of the instructors, and that there was

no provision for securing land, buildings, or apparatus.

The task before me did not seem a very encouraging one.

It seemed much like making bricks without straw. The

coloured people were overjoyed, and were constantly of-

fering their services in any way in which they could be of

assistance in getting the school started.

My first task was to find a place in which to open the

school. After looking the town over with some care, the

most suitable place that could be secured seemed to be a

rather dilapidated shanty near the coloured Methodist

church, together with the church itself as a sort of as-

sembly-room. Both the church and the shanty were in

Booker T. Washington about as bad condition as was possible. I recall that dur-

ing the first months of school that I taught in this build-

ing it was in such poor repair that, whenever it rained,

one of the older students would very kindly leave his les-

sons and hold an umbrella over me while I heard the reci-

tations of the others. I remember, also, that on more

than one occasion my landlady held an umbrella over me

while I ate breakfast.

At the time I went to Alabama the coloured people

were taking considerable interest in politics, and they were

very anxious that I should become one of them politi-

cally, in every respect. They seemed to have a little dis-

trust of strangers in this regard. I recall that one man,

who seemed to have been designated by the others to

look after my political destiny, came to me on several

occasions and said, with a good deal of earnestness: “We

wants you to be sure to vote jes’ like we votes. We can’t

read de newspapers very much, but we knows how to vote,

an’ we wants you to vote jes’ like we votes.” He added:

“We watches de white man, and we keeps watching de

white man till we finds out which way de white man’s

gwine to vote; an’ when we finds out which way de white

man’s gwine to vote, den we votes ‘xactly de other way.

Den we knows we’s right.”

I am glad to add, however, that at the present time the

disposition to vote against the white man merely because

he is white is largely disappearing, and the race is learning

to vote from principle, for what the voter considers to be

for the best interests of both races.

I reached Tuskegee, as I have said, early in June, 1881.

The first month I spent in finding accommodations for the

school, and in travelling through Alabama, examining into

the actual life of the people, especially in the court dis-

tricts, and in getting the school advertised among the glass

of people that I wanted to have attend it. The most of my

travelling was done over the country roads, with a mule

and a cart or a mule and a buggy wagon for conveyance. I

ate and slept with the people, in their little cabins. I saw

their farms, their schools, their churches. Since, in the case

of the most of these visits, there had been no notice given

in advance that a stranger was expected, I had the advan-

tage of seeing the real, everyday life of the people.

UP FROM SLAVERY

In the plantation districts I found that, as a rule, the

whole family slept in one room, and that in addition to

the immediate family there sometimes were relatives, or

others not related to the family, who slept in the same

room. On more than one occasion I went outside the

house to get ready for bed, or to wait until the family had

gone to bed. They usually contrived some kind of a place

for me to sleep, either on the floor or in a special part of

another’s bed. Rarely was there any place provided in the

cabin where one could bathe even the face and hands, but

usually some provision was made for this outside the house,

in the yard.

The common diet of the people was fat pork and corn

bread. At times I have eaten in cabins where they had

only corn bread and “black-eye peas” cooked in plain water.

The people seemed to have no other idea than to live on

this fat meat and corn bread,—the meat, and the meal of

which the bread was made, having been bought at a high

price at a store in town, notwithstanding the face that

the land all about the cabin homes could easily have been

made to produce nearly every kind of garden vegetable

that is raised anywhere in the country. Their one object

seemed to be to plant nothing but cotton; and in many

cases cotton was planted up to the very door of the cabin.

In these cabin homes I often found sewing-machines

which had been bought, or were being bought, on

instalments, frequently at a cost of as much as sixty dol-

lars, or showy clocks for which the occupants of the cab-

ins had paid twelve or fourteen dollars. I remember that

on one occasion when I went into one of these cabins for

dinner, when I sat down to the table for a meal with the

four members of the family, I noticed that, while there

were five of us at the table, there was but one fork for the

five of us to use. Naturally there was an awkward pause on

my part. In the opposite corner of that same cabin was an

organ for which the people told me they were paying sixty

dollars in monthly instalments. One fork, and a sixty-dol-

lar organ!

In most cases the sewing-machine was not used, the

clocks were so worthless that they did not keep correct

time—and if they had, in nine cases out of ten there

would have been no one in the family who could have told

Booker T. Washington the time of day—while the organ, of course, was rarely

used for want of a person who could play upon it.

In the case to which I have referred, where the family

sat down to the table for the meal at which I was their

guest, I could see plainly that this was an awkward and

unusual proceeding, and was done in my honour. In most

cases, when the family got up in the morning, for ex-

ample, the wife would put a piece of meat in a frying-pan

and put a lump of dough in a “skillet,” as they called it.

These utensils would be placed on the fire, and in ten or

fifteen minutes breakfast would be ready. Frequently the

husband would take his bread and meat in his hand and

start for the field, eating as he walked. The mother would

sit down in a corner and eat her breakfast, perhaps from a

plate and perhaps directly from the “skillet” or frying-

pan, while the children would eat their portion of the

bread and meat while running about the yard. At certain

seasons of the year, when meat was scarce, it was rarely

that the children who were not old enough or strong enough

to work in the fields would have the luxury of meat.

The breakfast over, and with practically no attention

given to the house, the whole family would, as a general

thing, proceed to the cotton-field. Every child that was

large enough to carry a hoe was put to work, and the

baby—for usually there was at least one baby—would be

laid down at the end of the cotton row, so that its mother

could give it a certain amount of attention when she had

finished chopping her row. The noon meal and the supper

were taken in much the same way as the breakfast.

All the days of the family would be spent after much

this same routine, except Saturday and Sunday. On Satur-

day the whole family would spent at least half a day, and

often a whole day, in town. The idea in going to town

was, I suppose, to do shopping, but all the shopping that

the whole family had money for could have been attended

to in ten minutes by one person. Still, the whole family

remained in town for most of the day, spending the greater

part of the time in standing on the streets, the women,

too often, sitting about somewhere smoking or dipping

snuff. Sunday was usually spent in going to some big

meeting. With few exceptions, I found that the crops were

mortgaged in the counties where I went, and that the

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most of the coloured farmers were in debt. The state had

not been able to build schoolhouses in the country dis-

tricts, and, as a rule, the schools were taught in churches

or in log cabins. More than once, while on my journeys, I

found that there was no provision made in the house used

for school purposes for heating the building during the

winter, and consequently a fire had to be built in the

yard, and teacher and pupils passed in and out of the

house as they got cold or warm. With few exceptions, I

found the teachers in these country schools to be miser-

ably poor in preparation for their work, and poor in moral

character. The schools were in session from three to five

months. There was practically no apparatus in the school-

houses, except that occasionally there was a rough black-

board. I recall that one day I went into a schoolhouse—

or rather into an abandoned log cabin that was being

used as a schoolhouse—and found five pupils who were

studying a lesson from one book. Two of these, on the

front seat, were using the book between them; behind

these were two others peeping over the shoulders of the

first two, and behind the four was a fifth little fellow who

was peeping over the shoulders of all four.

What I have said concerning the character of the school-

houses and teachers will also apply quite accurately as a

description of the church buildings and the ministers.

I met some very interesting characters during my trav-

els. As illustrating the peculiar mental processes of the

country people, I remember that I asked one coloured

man, who was about sixty years old, to tell me something

of his history. He said that he had been born in Virginia,

and sold into Alabama in 1845. I asked him how many

were sold at the same time. He said, “There were five of

us; myself and brother and three mules.”

In giving all these descriptions of what I saw during my

mouth of travel in the country around Tuskegee, I wish

my readers to keep in mind the fact that there were many

encouraging exceptions to the conditions which I have

described. I have stated in such plain words what I saw,

mainly for the reason that later I want to emphasize the

encouraging changes that have taken place in the com-

munity, not wholly by the work of the Tuskegee school,

but by that of other institutions as well.

Booker T. Washington Chapter VIII. Teaching School In A Stable

And A Hen-House

I confess that what I saw during my month of travel

and investigation left me with a very heavy heart.

The work to be done in order to lift these people up

seemed almost beyond accomplishing. I was only one

person, and it seemed to me that the little effort which I

could put forth could go such a short distance toward

bringing about results. I wondered if I could accomplish

anything, and if it were worth while for me to try.

Of one thing I felt more strongly convinced than ever,

after spending this month in seeing the actual life of the

coloured people, and that was that, in order to lift them

up, something must be done more than merely to imitate

New England education as it then existed. I saw more

clearly than ever the wisdom of the system which General

Armstrong had inaugurated at Hampton. To take the chil-

dren of such people as I had been among for a month,

and each day give them a few hours of mere book educa-

tion, I felt would be almost a waste of time.

After consultation with the citizens of Tuskegee, I set

July 4, 1881, as the day for the opening of the school in

the little shanty and church which had been secured for

its accommodation. The white people, as well as the

coloured, were greatly interested in the starting of the

new school, and the opening day was looked forward to

with much earnest discussion. There were not a few white

people in the vicinity of Tuskegee who looked with some

disfavour upon the project. They questioned its value to

the coloured people, and had a fear that it might result in

bringing about trouble between the races. Some had the

feeling that in proportion as the Negro received educa-

tion, in the same proportion would his value decrease as

an economic factor in the state. These people feared the

result of education would be that the Negroes would leave

the farms, and that it would be difficult to secure them

for domestic service.

The white people who questioned the wisdom of start-

ing this new school had in their minds pictures of what

was called an educated Negro, with a high hat, imitation

gold eye-glasses, a showy walking-stick, kid gloves, fancy

UP FROM SLAVERY

boots, and what not—in a word, a man who was deter-

mined to live by his wits. It was difficult for these people

to see how education would produce any other kind of a

coloured man.

In the midst of all the difficulties which I encountered

in getting the little school started, and since then through

a period of nineteen years, there are two men among all

the many friends of the school in Tuskegee upon whom I

have depended constantly for advice and guidance; and

the success of the undertaking is largely due to these

men, from whom I have never sought anything in vain. I

mention them simply as types. One is a white man and an

ex-slaveholder, Mr. George W. Campbell; the other is a

black man and an ex-slave, Mr. Lewis Adams. These were

the men who wrote to General Armstrong for a teacher.

Mr. Campbell is a merchant and banker, and had had

little experience in dealing with matters pertaining to edu-

cation. Mr. Adams was a mechanic, and had learned the

trades of shoemaking, harness-making, and tinsmithing

during the days of slavery. He had never been to school a

day in his life, but in some way he had learned to read and

write while a slave. From the first, these two men saw

clearly what my plan of education was, sympathized with

me, and supported me in every effort. In the days which

were darkest financially for the school, Mr. Campbell was

never appealed to when he was not willing to extend all

the aid in his power. I do not know two men, one an ex-

slaveholder, one an ex-slave, whose advice and judgment

I would feel more like following in everything which con-

cerns the life and development of the school at Tuskegee

than those of these two men.

I have always felt that Mr. Adams, in a large degree,

derived his unusual power of mind from the training given

his hands in the process of mastering well three trades

during the days of slavery. If one goes to-day into any

Southern town, and asks for the leading and most reliable

coloured man in the community, I believe that in five

cases out of ten he will be directed to a Negro who learned

a trade during the days of slavery.

On the morning that the school opened, thirty students

reported for admission. I was the only teacher. The stu-

dents were about equally divided between the sexes. Most

Booker T. Washington of them lived in Macon County, the county in which

Tuskegee is situated, and of which it is the county-seat. A

great many more students wanted to enter the school,

but it had been decided to receive only those who were

above fifteen years of age, and who had previously re-

ceived some education. The greater part of the thirty were

public-school teachers, and some of them were nearly forty

years of age. With the teachers came some of their former

pupils, and when they were examined it was amusing to

note that in several cases the pupil entered a higher class

than did his former teacher. It was also interesting to

note how many big books some of them had studied, and

how many high-sounding subjects some of them claimed

to have mastered. The bigger the book and the longer the

name of the subject, the prouder they felt of their accom-

plishment. Some had studied Latin, and one or two Greek.

This they thought entitled them to special distinction.

In fact, one of the saddest things I saw during the

month of travel which I have described was a young man,

who had attended some high school, sitting down in a

one-room cabin, with grease on his clothing, filth all around

him, and weeds in the yard and garden, engaged in study-

ing a French grammar.

The students who came first seemed to be fond of memo-

rizing long and complicated “rules” in grammar and math-

ematics, but had little thought or knowledge of applying

these rules to their everyday affairs of their life. One sub-

ject which they liked to talk about, and tell me that they

had mastered, in arithmetic, was “banking and discount,”

but I soon found out that neither they nor almost any

one in the neighbourhood in which they had lived had

ever had a bank account. In registering the names of the

students, I found that almost every one of them had one

or more middle initials. When I asked what the “J” stood

for, in the name of John J. Jones, it was explained to me

that this was a part of his “entitles.” Most of the students

wanted to get an education because they thought it would

enable them to earn more money as school-teachers.

Notwithstanding what I have said about them in these

respects, I have never seen a more earnest and willing

company of young men and women than these students

were. They were all willing to learn the right thing as soon

UP FROM SLAVERY

as it was shown them what was right. I was determined to

start them off on a solid and thorough foundation, so far

as their books were concerned. I soon learned that most

of them had the merest smattering of the high-sounding

things that they had studied. While they could locate the

Desert of Sahara or the capital of China on an artificial

globe, I found out that the girls could not locate the

proper places for the knives and forks on an actual dinner-

table, or the places on which the bread and meat should

be set.

I had to summon a good deal of courage to take a

student who had been studying cube root and “banking

and discount,” and explain to him that the wisest thing

for him to do first was thoroughly master the multiplica-

tion table.

The number of pupils increased each week, until by the

end of the first month there were nearly fifty. Many of

them, however, said that, as they could remain only for

two or three months, they wanted to enter a high class

and get a diploma the first year if possible.

At the end of the first six weeks a new and rare face

entered the school as a co-teacher. This was Miss Olivia A.

Davidson, who later became my wife. Miss Davidson was

born in Ohio, and received her preparatory education in

the public schools of that state. When little more than a

girl, she heard of the need of teachers in the South. She

went to the state of Mississippi and began teaching there.

Later she taught in the city of Memphis. While teaching in

Mississippi, one of her pupils became ill with smallpox.

Every one in the community was so frightened that no

one would nurse the boy. Miss Davidson closed her school

and remained by the bedside of the boy night and day

until he recovered. While she was at her Ohio home on her

vacation, the worst epidemic of yellow fever broke out in

Memphis, Tenn., that perhaps has ever occurred in the

South. When she heard of this, she at once telegraphed

the Mayor of Memphis, offering her services as a yellow-

fever nurse, although she had never had the disease.

Miss Davidon’s experience in the South showed her that

the people needed something more than mere book-learn-

ing. She heard of the Hampton system of education, and

decided that this was what she wanted in order to prepare

Booker T. Washington herself for better work in the South. The attention of Mrs.

Mary Hemenway, of Boston, was attracted to her rare abil-

ity. Through Mrs. Hemenway’s kindness and generosity,

Miss Davidson, after graduating at Hampton, received an

opportunity to complete a two years’ course of training

at the Massachusetts State Normal School at Framingham.

Before she went to Framingham, some one suggested to

Miss Davidson that, since she was so very light in colour,

she might find it more comfortable not to be known as a

coloured women in this school in Massachusetts. She at

once replied that under no circumstances and for no con-

siderations would she consent to deceive any one in re-

gard to her racial identity.

Soon after her graduation from the Framingham institu-

tion, Miss Davidson came to Tuskegee, bringing into the

school many valuable and fresh ideas as to the best meth-

ods of teaching, as well as a rare moral character and a life

of unselfishness that I think has seldom been equalled. No

single individual did more toward laying the foundations of

the Tuskegee Institute so as to insure the successful work

that has been done there than Olivia A. Davidson.

Miss Davidson and I began consulting as to the future

of the school from the first. The students were making

progress in learning books and in development their minds;

but it became apparent at once that, if we were to make

any permanent impression upon those who had come to

us for training we must do something besides teach them

mere books. The students had come from homes where

they had had no opportunities for lessons which would

teach them how to care for their bodies. With few excep-

tions, the homes in Tuskegee in which the students boarded

were but little improvement upon those from which they

had come. We wanted to teach the students how to bathe;

how to care for their teeth and clothing. We wanted to

teach them what to eat, and how to eat it properly, and

how to care for their rooms. Aside from this, we wanted

to give them such a practical knowledge of some one

industry, together with the spirit of industry, thrift, and

economy, that they would be sure of knowing how to

make a living after they had left us. We wanted to teach

them to study actual things instead of mere books alone.

We found that the most of our students came from the

UP FROM SLAVERY

country districts, where agriculture in some form or other

was the main dependence of the people. We learned that

about eighty-five per cent of the coloured people in the

Gulf states depended upon agriculture for their living.

Since this was true, we wanted to be careful not to edu-

cation our students out of sympathy with agricultural life,

so that they would be attracted from the country to the

cities, and yield to the temptation of trying to live by

their wits. We wanted to give them such an education as

would fit a large proportion of them to be teachers, and

at the same time cause them to return to the plantation

districts and show the people there how to put new en-

ergy and new ideas into farming, as well as into the intel-

lectual and moral and religious life of the people.

All these ideas and needs crowded themselves upon us

with a seriousness that seemed well-night overwhelming.

What were we to do? We had only the little old shanty and

the abandoned church which the good coloured people of

the town of Tuskegee had kindly loaned us for the accom-

modation of the classes. The number of students was in-

creasing daily. The more we saw of them, and the more we

travelled through the country districts, the more we saw

that our efforts were reaching, to only a partial degree,

the actual needs of the people whom we wanted to lift up

through the medium of the students whom we should

education and send out as leaders.

The more we talked with the students, who were then

coming to us from several parts of the state, the more we

found that the chief ambition among a large proportion

of them was to get an education so that they would not

have to work any longer with their hands.

This is illustrated by a story told of a coloured man in

Alabama, who, one hot day in July, while he was at work

in a cotton-field, suddenly stopped, and, looking toward

the skies, said: “O Lawd, de cottom am so grassy, de work

am so hard, and the sun am so hot dat I b’lieve dis darky

am called to preach!”

About three months after the opening of the school,

and at the time when we were in the greatest anxiety

about our work, there came into market for sale an old

and abandoned plantation which was situated about a

mile from the town of Tuskegee. The mansion house—or

Booker T. Washington “big house,” as it would have been called—which had

been occupied by the owners during slavery, had been

burned. After making a careful examination of the place,

it seemed to be just the location that we wanted in order

to make our work effective and permanent.

But how were we to get it? The price asked for it was very

little —only five hundred dollars—but we had no money,

and we were strangers in the town and had no credit. The

owner of the land agreed to let us occupy the place if we

could make a payment of two hundred and fifty dollars

down, with the understanding that the remaining two hun-

dred and fifty dollars must be paid within a year. Although

five hundred dollars was cheap for the land, it was a large

sum when one did not have any part of it.

In the midst of the difficulty I summoned a great deal

of courage and wrote to my friend General J.F.B. Marshall,

the Treasurer of the Hampton Institute, putting the situ-

ation before him and beseeching him to lend me the two

hundred and fifty dollars on my own personal responsibil-

ity. Within a few days a reply came to the effect that he

had no authority to lend me the money belonging to the

Hampton Institute, but that he would gladly lend me the

amount needed from his own personal funds.

I confess that the securing of this money in this way

was a great surprise to me, as well as a source of gratifi-

cation. Up to that time I never had had in my possession

so much money as one hundred dollars at a time, and the

loan which I had asked General Marshall for seemed a

tremendously large sum to me. The fact of my being re-

sponsible for the repaying of such a large amount of money

weighed very heavily upon me.

I lost no time in getting ready to move the school on to

the new farm. At the time we occupied the place there were

standing upon it a cabin, formerly used as a dining room,

an old kitchen, a stable, and an old hen-house. Within a

few weeks we had all of these structures in use. The stable

was repaired and used as a recitation-room, and very pres-

ently the hen-house was utilized for the same purpose.

I recall that one morning, when I told an old coloured

man who lived near, and who sometimes helped me, that

our school had grown so large that it would be necessary

for us to use the hen-house for school purposes, and that

UP FROM SLAVERY

I wanted him to help me give it a thorough cleaning out

the next day, he replied, in the most earnest manner:

“What you mean, boss? You sholy ain’t gwine clean out de

hen-house in de day-time?”

Nearly all the work of getting the new location ready for

school purposes was done by the students after school

was over in the afternoon. As soon as we got the cabins in

condition to be used, I determined to clear up some land

so that we could plant a crop. When I explained my plan

to the young men, I noticed that they did not seem to

take to it very kindly. It was hard for them to see the

connection between clearing land and an education. Be-

sides, many of them had been school-teachers, and they

questioned whether or not clearing land would be in keeping

with their dignity. In order to relieve them from any em-

barrassment, each afternoon after school I took my axe

and led the way to the woods. When they saw that I was

not afraid or ashamed to work, they began to assist with

more enthusiasm. We kept at the work each afternoon,

until we had cleared about twenty acres and had planted

a crop.

In the meantime Miss Davidson was devising plans to

repay the loan. Her first effort was made by holding festi-

vals, or “suppers.” She made a personal canvass among the

white and coloured families in the town of Tuskegee, and

got them to agree to give something, like a cake, a chicken,

bread, or pies, that could be sold at the festival. Of course

the coloured people were glad to give anything that they

could spare, but I want to add that Miss Davidson did not

apply to a single white family, so far as I now remember,

that failed to donate something; and in many ways the

white families showed their interested in the school.

Several of these festivals were held, and quite a little

sum of money was raised. A canvass was also made among

the people of both races for direct gifts of money, and

most of those applied to gave small sums. It was often

pathetic to note the gifts of the older coloured people,

most of whom had spent their best days in slavery. Some-

times they would give five cents, sometimes twenty-five

cents. Sometimes the contribution was a quilt, or a quan-

tity of sugarcane. I recall one old coloured women who

was about seventy years of age, who came to see me when

Booker T. Washington we were raising money to pay for the farm. She hobbled

into the room where I was, leaning on a cane. She was

clad in rags; but they were clean. She said: “Mr. Washin’ton,

God knows I spent de bes’ days of my life in slavery. God

knows I’s ignorant an’ poor; but,” she added, “I knows

what you an’ Miss Davidson is tryin’ to do. I knows you is

tryin’ to make better men an’ better women for de coloured

race. I ain’t got no money, but I wants you to take dese

six eggs, what I’s been savin’ up, an’ I wants you to put

dese six eggs into the eddication of dese boys an’ gals.”

Since the work at Tuskegee started, it has been my privi-

lege to receive many gifts for the benefit of the institu-

tion, but never any, I think, that touched me so deeply as

this one.

Chapter IX. Anxious Days And Sleepless Nights

T he coming of Christmas, that first year of our resi

dence in Alabama, gave us an opportunity to get a

farther insight into the real life of the people. The

first thing that reminded us that Christmas had arrived

was the “foreday” visits of scores of children rapping at

our doors, asking for “Chris’mus gifts! Chris’mus gifts!”

Between the hours of two o’clock and five o’clock in the

morning I presume that we must have had a half-hundred

such calls. This custom prevails throughout this portion

of the South to-day.

During the days of slavery it was a custom quite gener-

ally observed throughout all the Southern states to give

the coloured people a week of holiday at Christmas, or to

allow the holiday to continue as long as the “yule log”

lasted. The male members of the race, and often the fe-

male members, were expected to get drunk. We found

that for a whole week the coloured people in and around

Tuskegee dropped work the day before Christmas, and that

UP FROM SLAVERY

it was difficult for any one to perform any service from

the time they stopped work until after the New Year. Per-

sons who at other times did not use strong drink thought

it quite the proper thing to indulge in it rather freely

during the Christmas week. There was a widespread hilar-

ity, and a free use of guns, pistols, and gunpowder gener-

ally. The sacredness of the season seemed to have been

almost wholly lost sight of.

During this first Christmas vacation I went some dis-

tance from the town to visit the people on one of the

large plantations. In their poverty and ignorance it was

pathetic to see their attempts to get joy out of the sea-

son that in most parts of the country is so sacred and so

dear to the heart. In one cabin I notice that all that the

five children had to remind them of the coming of Christ

was a single bunch of firecrackers, which they had divided

among them. In another cabin, where there were at least

a half-dozen persons, they had only ten cents’ worth of

ginger-cakes, which had been bought in the store the day

before. In another family they had only a few pieces of

sugarcane. In still another cabin I found nothing but a

new jug of cheap, mean whiskey, which the husband and

wife were making free use of, notwithstanding the fact

that the husband was one of the local ministers. In a few

instances I found that the people had gotten hold of

some bright-coloured cards that had been designed for

advertising purposes, and were making the most of these.

In other homes some member of the family had bought a

new pistol. In the majority of cases there was nothing to

be seen in the cabin to remind one of the coming of the

Saviour, except that the people had ceased work in the

fields and were lounging about their homes. At night,

during Christmas week, they usually had what they called

a “frolic,” in some cabin on the plantation. That meant a

kind of rough dance, where there was likely to be a good

deal of whiskey used, and where there might be some

shooting or cutting with razors.

While I was making this Christmas visit I met an old

coloured man who was one of the numerous local preach-

ers, who tried to convince me, from the experience Adam

had in the Garden of Eden, that God had cursed all labour,

and that, therefore, it was a sin for any man to work. For

Booker T. Washington that reason this man sought to do as little work as pos-

sible. He seemed at that time to be supremely happy,

because he was living, as he expressed it, through one

week that was free from sin.

In the school we made a special effort to teach our

students the meaning of Christmas, and to give them les-

sons in its proper observance. In this we have been suc-

cessful to a degree that makes me feel safe in saying that

the season now has a new meaning, not only through all

that immediate region, but, in a measure, wherever our

graduates have gone.

At the present time one of the most satisfactory fea-

tures of the Christmas and Thanksgiving season at Tuskegee

is the unselfish and beautiful way in which our graduates

and students spend their time in administering to the

comfort and happiness of others, especially the unfortu-

nate. Not long ago some of our young men spent a holi-

day in rebuilding a cabin for a helpless coloured women

who was about seventy-five years old. At another time I

remember that I made it known in chapel, one night, that

a very poor student was suffering from cold, because he

needed a coat. The next morning two coats were sent to

my office for him.

I have referred to the disposition on the part of the white

people in the town of Tuskegee and vicinity to help the

school. From the first, I resolved to make the school a real

part of the community in which it was located. I was de-

termined that no one should have the feeling that it was a

foreign institution, dropped down in the midst of the people,

for which they had no responsibility and in which they had

no interest. I noticed that the very fact that they had been

asking to contribute toward the purchase of the land made

them begin to feel as if it was going to be their school, to

a large degree. I noted that just in proportion as we made

the white people feel that the institution was a part of the

life of the community, and that, while we wanted to make

friends in Boston, for example, we also wanted to make

white friends in Tuskegee, and that we wanted to make the

school of real service to all the people, their attitude to-

ward the school became favourable.

Perhaps I might add right here, what I hope to demon-

strate later, that, so far as I know, the Tuskegee school at

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the present time has no warmer and more enthusiastic

friends anywhere than it has among the white citizens of

Tuskegee and throughout the state of Alabama and the

entire South. From the first, I have advised our people in

the South to make friends in every straightforward, manly

way with their next-door neighbour, whether he be a black

man or a white man. I have also advised them, where no

principle is at stake, to consult the interests of their local

communities, and to advise with their friends in regard to

their voting.

For several months the work of securing the money with

which to pay for the farm went on without ceasing. At

the end of three months enough was secured to repay the

loan of two hundred and fifty dollars to General Marshall,

and within two months more we had secured the entire

five hundred dollars and had received a deed of the one

hundred acres of land. This gave us a great deal of satis-

faction. It was not only a source of satisfaction to secure

a permanent location for the school, but it was equally

satisfactory to know that the greater part of the money

with which it was paid for had been gotten from the white

and coloured people in the town of Tuskegee. The most of

this money was obtained by holding festivals and con-

certs, and from small individual donations.

Our next effort was in the direction of increasing the

cultivation of the land, so as to secure some return from

it, and at the same time give the students training in

agriculture. All the industries at Tuskegee have been started

in natural and logical order, growing out of the needs of a

community settlement. We began with farming, because

we wanted something to eat.

Many of the students, also, were able to remain in school

but a few weeks at a time, because they had so little

money with which to pay their board. Thus another object

which made it desirable to get an industrial system started

was in order to make in available as a means of helping

the students to earn money enough so that they might be

able to remain in school during the nine months’ session

of the school year.

The first animal that the school came into possession of

was an old blind horse given us by one of the white citi-

zens of Tuskegee. Perhaps I may add here that at the

Booker T. Washington present time the school owns over two hundred horses,

colts, mules, cows, calves, and oxen, and about seven

hundred hogs and pigs, as well as a large number of sheep

and goats.

The school was constantly growing in numbers, so much

so that, after we had got the farm paid for, the cultiva-

tion of the land begun, and the old cabins which we had

found on the place somewhat repaired, we turned our

attention toward providing a large, substantial building.

After having given a good deal of thought to the subject,

we finally had the plans drawn for a building that was

estimated to cost about six thousand dollars. This seemed

to us a tremendous sum, but we knew that the school

must go backward or forward, and that our work would

mean little unless we could get hold of the students in

their home life.

One incident which occurred about this time gave me a

great deal of satisfaction as well as surprise. When it be-

came known in the town that we were discussing the

plans for a new, large building, a Southern white man who

was operating a sawmill not far from Tuskegee came to

me and said that he would gladly put all the lumber nec-

essary to erect the building on the grounds, with no other

guarantee for payment than my word that it would be

paid for when we secured some money. I told the man

frankly that at the time we did not have in our hands one

dollar of the money needed. Notwithstanding this, he in-

sisted on being allowed to put the lumber on the grounds.

After we had secured some portion of the money we per-

mitted him to do this.

Miss Davidson again began the work of securing in vari-

ous ways small contributions for the new building from

the white and coloured people in and near Tuskegee. I

think I never saw a community of people so happy over

anything as were the coloured people over the prospect of

this new building. One day, when we were holding a meet-

ing to secure funds for its erection, an old, ante-bellum

coloured man came a distance of twelve miles and brought

in his ox-cart a large hog. When the meeting was in

progress, he rose in the midst of the company and said

that he had no money which he could give, but he had

raised two fine hogs, and that he had brought one of

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them as a contribution toward the expenses of the build-

ing. He closed his announcement by saying: “Any nigger

that’s got any love for his race, or any respect for himself,

will bring a hog to the next meeting.” Quite a number of

men in the community also volunteered to give several

days’ work, each, toward the erection of the building.

After we had secured all the help that we could in

Tuskegee, Miss Davidson decided to go North for the pur-

pose of securing additional funds. For weeks she visited

individuals and spoke in churches and before Sunday schools

and other organizations. She found this work quite try-

ing, and often embarrassing. The school was not known,

but she was not long in winning her way into the confi-

dence of the best people in the North.

The first gift from any Northern person was received

from a New York lady whom Miss Davidson met on the

boat that was bringing her North. They fell into a conver-

sation, and the Northern lady became so much interested

in the effort being made at Tuskegee that before they

parted Miss Davidson was handed a check for fifty dollars.

For some time before our marriage, and also after it, Miss

Davidson kept up the work of securing money in the North

and in the South by interesting people by personal visits

and through correspondence. At the same time she kept

in close touch with the work at Tuskegee, as lady principal

and classroom teacher. In addition to this, she worked

among the older people in and near Tuskegee, and taught

a Sunday school class in the town. She was never very

strong, but never seemed happy unless she was giving all

of her strength to the cause which she loved. Often, at

night, after spending the day in going from door to door

trying to interest persons in the work at Tuskegee, she

would be so exhausted that she could not undress herself.

A lady upon whom she called, in Boston, afterward told

me that at one time when Miss Davidson called her to see

and send up her card the lady was detained a little before

she could see Miss Davidson, and when she entered the

parlour she found Miss Davidson so exhausted that she

had fallen asleep.

While putting up our first building, which was named

Porter Hall, after Mr. A.H. Porter, of Brooklyn, N.Y., who

gave a generous sum toward its erection, the need for

Booker T. Washington money became acute. I had given one of our creditors a

promise that upon a certain day he should be paid four

hundred dollars. On the morning of that day we did not

have a dollar. The mail arrived at the school at ten o’clock,

and in this mail there was a check sent by Miss Davidson

for exactly four hundred dollars. I could relate many in-

stances of almost the same character. This four hundred

dollars was given by two ladies in Boston. Two years later,

when the work at Tuskegee had grown considerably, and

when we were in the midst of a season when we were so

much in need of money that the future looked doubtful

and gloomy, the same two Boston ladies sent us six thou-

sand dollars. Words cannot describe our surprise, or the

encouragement that the gift brought to us. Perhaps I

might add here that for fourteen years these same friends

have sent us six thousand dollars a year.

As soon as the plans were drawn for the new building,

the students began digging out the earth where the foun-

dations were to be laid, working after the regular classes

were over. They had not fully outgrown the idea that it

was hardly the proper thing for them to use their hands,

since they had come there, as one of them expressed it,

“to be educated, and not to work.” Gradually, though, I

noted with satisfaction that a sentiment in favour of work

was gaining ground. After a few weeks of hard work the

foundations were ready, and a day was appointed for the

laying of the corner-stone.

When it is considered that the laying of this corner-

stone took place in the heart of the South, in the “Black

Belt,” in the centre of that part of our country that was

most devoted to slavery; that at that time slavery had

been abolished only about sixteen years; that only six-

teen years before no Negro could be taught from books

without the teacher receiving the condemnation of the

law or of public sentiment—when all this is considered,

the scene that was witnessed on that spring day at Tuskegee

was a remarkable one. I believe there are few places in the

world where it could have taken place.

The principal address was delivered by the Hon. Waddy

Thompson, the Superintendent of Education for the county.

About the corner-stone were gathered the teachers, the

students, their parents and friends, the county officials—

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who were white—and all the leading white men in that

vicinity, together with many of the black men and women

whom the same white people but a few years before had

held a title to as property. The members of both races

were anxious to exercise the privilege of placing under the

corner-stone some momento.

Before the building was completed we passed through

some very trying seasons. More than once our hearts were

made to bleed, as it were, because bills were falling due

that we did not have the money to meet. Perhaps no one

who has not gone through the experience, month after

month, of trying to erect buildings and provide equip-

ment for a school when no one knew where the money was

to come from, can properly appreciate the difficulties under

which we laboured. During the first years at Tuskegee I

recall that night after night I would roll and toss on my

bed, without sleep, because of the anxiety and uncer-

tainty which we were in regarding money. I knew that, in

a large degree, we were trying an experiment—that of

testing whether or not it was possible for Negroes to build

up and control the affairs of a large education institution.

I knew that if we failed it would injure the whole race. I

knew that the presumption was against us. I knew that in

the case of white people beginning such an enterprise it

would be taken for granted that they were going to suc-

ceed, but in our case I felt that people would be surprised

if we succeeded. All this made a burden which pressed

down on us, sometimes, it seemed, at the rate of a thou-

sand pounds to the square inch.

In all our difficulties and anxieties, however, I never

went to a white or a black person in the town of Tuskegee

for any assistance that was in their power to render, with-

out being helped according to their means. More than a

dozen times, when bills figuring up into the hundreds of

dollars were falling due, I applied to the white men of

Tuskegee for small loans, often borrowing small amounts

from as many as a half-dozen persons, to meet our obli-

gations. One thing I was determined to do from the first,

and that was to keep the credit of the school high; and

this, I think I can say without boasting, we have done all

through these years.

I shall always remember a bit of advice given me by Mr.

Booker T. Washington George W. Campbell, the white man to whom I have re-

ferred to as the one who induced General Armstrong to

send me to Tuskegee. Soon after I entered upon the work

Mr. Campbell said to me, in his fatherly way: “Washing-

ton, always remember that credit is capital.”

At one time when we were in the greatest distress for

money that we ever experienced, I placed the situation

frankly before General Armstrong. Without hesitation he

gave me his personal check for all the money which he

had saved for his own use. This was not the only time that

General Armstrong helped Tuskegee in this way. I do not

think I have ever made this fact public before.

During the summer of 1882, at the end of the first

year’s work of the school, I was married to Miss Fannie N.

Smith, of Malden, W. Va. We began keeping house in

Tuskegee early in the fall. This made a home for our teach-

ers, who now had been increase to four in number. My

wife was also a graduate of the Hampton Institute. After

earnest and constant work in the interests of the school,

together with her housekeeping duties, my wife passed

away in May, 1884. One child, Portia M. Washington, was

born during our marriage.

From the first, my wife most earnestly devoted her

thoughts and time to the work of the school, and was

completely one with me in every interest and ambition.

She passed away, however, before she had an opportunity

of seeing what the school was designed to be.

UP FROM SLAVERY

Chapter X. A Harder Task Than Making Bricks Without Straw

F rom the very beginning, at Tuskegee, I was deter

mined to have the students do not only the agricul

tural and domestic work, but to have them erect

their own buildings. My plan was to have them, while

performing this service, taught the latest and best meth-

ods of labour, so that the school would not only get the

benefit of their efforts, but the students themselves would

be taught to see not only utility in labour, but beauty

and dignity; would be taught, in fact, how to lift labour

up from mere drudgery and toil, and would learn to love

work for its own sake. My plan was not to teach them to

work in the old way, but to show them how to make the

forces of nature—air, water, steam, electricity, horse-

power—assist them in their labour.

At first many advised against the experiment of having

the buildings erected by the labour of the students, but I

was determined to stick to it. I told those who doubted

the wisdom of the plan that I knew that our first build-

ings would not be so comfortable or so complete in their

finish as buildings erected by the experienced hands of

outside workmen, but that in the teaching of civilization,

self-help, and self-reliance, the erection of buildings by

the students themselves would more than compensate for

any lack of comfort or fine finish.

I further told those who doubted the wisdom of this

plan, that the majority of our students came to us in

poverty, from the cabins of the cotton, sugar, and rice

plantations of the South, and that while I knew it would

please the students very much to place them at once in

finely constructed buildings, I felt that it would be fol-

lowing out a more natural process of development to teach

them how to construct their own buildings. Mistakes I

knew would be made, but these mistakes would teach us

valuable lessons for the future.

During the now nineteen years’ existence of the Tuskegee

school, the plan of having the buildings erected by stu-

dent labour has been adhered to. In this time forty build-

ings, counting small and large, have been built, and all

except four are almost wholly the product of student labour.

Booker T. Washington As an additional result, hundreds of men are now scattered

throughout the South who received their knowledge of

mechanics while being taught how to erect these build-

ings. Skill and knowledge are now handed down from one

set of students to another in this way, until at the present

time a building of any description or size can be constructed

wholly by our instructors and students, from the drawing of

the plans to the putting in of the electric fixtures, without

going off the grounds for a single workman.

Not a few times, when a new student has been led into

the temptation of marring the looks of some building by

leadpencil marks or by the cuts of a jack-knife, I have

heard an old student remind him: “Don’t do that. That is

our building. I helped put it up.”

In the early days of the school I think my most trying

experience was in the matter of brickmaking. As soon as

we got the farm work reasonably well started, we directed

our next efforts toward the industry of making bricks. We

needed these for use in connection with the erection of

our own buildings; but there was also another reason for

establishing this industry. There was no brickyard in the

town, and in addition to our own needs there was a de-

mand for bricks in the general market.

I had always sympathized with the “Children of Israel,”

in their task of “making bricks without straw,” but ours

was the task of making bricks with no money and no ex-

perience.

In the first place, the work was hard and dirty, and it

was difficult to get the students to help. When it came to

brickmaking, their distaste for manual labour in connec-

tion with book education became especially manifest. It

was not a pleasant task for one to stand in the mud-pit

for hours, with the mud up to his knees. More than one

man became disgusted and left the school.

We tried several locations before we opened up a pit

that furnished brick clay. I had always supposed that

brickmaking was very simple, but I soon found out by

bitter experience that it required special skill and knowl-

edge, particularly in the burning of the bricks. After a

good deal of effort we moulded about twenty-five thou-

sand bricks, and put them into a kiln to be burned. This

kiln turned out to be a failure, because it was not prop-

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erly constructed or properly burned. We began at once,

however, on a second kiln. This, for some reason, also

proved a failure. The failure of this kiln made it still more

difficult to get the students to take part in the work.

Several of the teachers, however, who had been trained in

the industries at Hampton, volunteered their services, and

in some way we succeeded in getting a third kiln ready for

burning. The burning of a kiln required about a week.

Toward the latter part of the week, when it seemed as if

we were going to have a good many thousand bricks in a

few hours, in the middle of the night the kiln fell. For the

third time we had failed.

The failure of this last kiln left me without a single

dollar with which to make another experiment. Most of

the teachers advised the abandoning of the effort to make

bricks. In the midst of my troubles I thought of a watch

which had come into my possession years before. I took

the watch to the city of Montgomery, which was not far

distant, and placed it in a pawn-shop. I secured cash

upon it to the amount of fifteen dollars, with which to

renew the brickmaking experiment. I returned to Tuskegee,

and, with the help of the fifteen dollars, rallied our rather

demoralized and discouraged forces and began a fourth

attempt to make bricks. This time, I am glad to say, we

were successful. Before I got hold of any money, the time-

limit on my watch had expired, and I have never seen it

since; but I have never regretted the loss of it.

Brickmaking has now become such an important indus-

try at the school that last season our students manufac-

tured twelve hundred thousand of first-class bricks, of a

quality stable to be sold in any market. Aside from this,

scores of young men have mastered the brickmaking

trade—both the making of bricks by hand and by machin-

ery—and are now engaged in this industry in many parts

of the South.

The making of these bricks taught me an important les-

son in regard to the relations of the two races in the

South. Many white people who had had no contact with

the school, and perhaps no sympathy with it, came to us

to buy bricks because they found out that ours were good

bricks. They discovered that we were supplying a real want

in the community. The making of these bricks caused many

Booker T. Washington of the white residents of the neighbourhood to begin to

feel that the education of the Negro was not making him

worthless, but that in educating our students we were

adding something to the wealth and comfort of the com-

munity. As the people of the neighbourhood came to us

to buy bricks, we got acquainted with them; they traded

with us and we with them. Our business interests became

intermingled. We had something which they wanted; they

had something which we wanted. This, in a large measure,

helped to lay the foundation for the pleasant relations

that have continued to exist between us and the white

people in that section, and which now extend throughout

the South.

Wherever one of our brickmakers has gone in the South,

we find that he has something to contribute to the well-

being of the community into which he has gone; some-

thing that has made the community feel that, in a de-

gree, it is indebted to him, and perhaps, to a certain

extent, dependent upon him. In this way pleasant rela-

tions between the races have been simulated.

My experience is that there is something in human na-

ture which always makes an individual recognize and re-

ward merit, no matter under what colour of skin merit is

found. I have found, too, that it is the visible, the tan-

gible, that goes a long ways in softening prejudices. The

actual sight of a first-class house that a Negro has built is

ten times more potent than pages of discussion about a

house that he ought to build, or perhaps could build.

The same principle of industrial education has been car-

ried out in the building of our own wagons, carts, and

buggies, from the first. We now own and use on our farm

and about the school dozens of these vehicles, and every

one of them has been built by the hands of the students.

Aside from this, we help supply the local market with

these vehicles. The supplying of them to the people in the

community has had the same effect as the supplying of

bricks, and the man who learns at Tuskegee to build and

repair wagons and carts is regarded as a benefactor by

both races in the community where he goes. The people

with whom he lives and works are going to think twice

before they part with such a man.

The individual who can do something that the world

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wants done will, in the end, make his way regardless of

race. One man may go into a community prepared to sup-

ply the people there with an analysis of Greek sentences.

The community may not at the time be prepared for, or

feel the need of, Greek analysis, but it may feel its need of

bricks and houses and wagons. If the man can supply the

need for those, then, it will lead eventually to a demand

for the first product, and with the demand will come the

ability to appreciate it and to profit by it.

About the time that we succeeded in burning our first

kiln of bricks we began facing in an emphasized form the

objection of the students to being taught to work. By

this time it had gotten to be pretty well advertised

throughout the state that every student who came to

Tuskegee, no matter what his financial ability might be,

must learn some industry. Quite a number of letters came

from parents protesting against their children engaging in

labour while they were in the school. Other parents came

to the school to protest in person. Most of the new stu-

dents brought a written or a verbal request from their

parents to the effect that they wanted their children taught

nothing but books. The more books, the larger they were,

and the longer the titles printed upon them, the better

pleased the students and their parents seemed to be.

I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost

no opportunity to go into as many parts of the state as I

could, for the purpose of speaking to the parents, and

showing them the value of industrial education. Besides,

I talked to the students constantly on the subject. Not-

withstanding the unpopularity of industrial work, the school

continued to increase in numbers to such an extent that

by the middle of the second year there was an attendance

of about one hundred and fifty, representing almost all

parts of the state of Alabama, and including a few from

other states.

In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went

North and engaged in the work of raising funds for the

completion of our new building. On my way North I stopped

in New York to try to get a letter of recommendation from

an officer of a missionary organization who had become

somewhat acquainted with me a few years previous. This

man not only refused to give me the letter, but advised

Booker T. Washington me most earnestly to go back home at once, and not

make any attempt to get money, for he was quite sure

that I would never get more than enough to pay my trav-

elling expenses. I thanked him for his advice, and pro-

ceeded on my journey.

The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton,

Mass., where I spent nearly a half-day in looking for a

coloured family with whom I could board, never dreaming

that any hotel would admit me. I was greatly surprised

when I found that I would have no trouble in being ac-

commodated at a hotel.

We were successful in getting money enough so that on

Thanksgiving Day of that year we held our first service in

the chapel of Porter Hall, although the building was not

completed.

In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiv-

ing sermon, I found one of the rarest men that it has ever

been my privilege to know. This was the Rev. Robert C.

Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin, who was then pas-

tor of a little coloured Congregational church in Mont-

gomery, Ala. Before going to Montgomery to look for some

one to preach this sermon I had never heard of Mr. Bedford.

He had never heard of me. He gladly consented to come

to Tuskegee and hold the Thanksgiving service. It was the

first service of the kind that the coloured people there

had ever observed, and what a deep interest they mani-

fested in it! The sight of the new building made it a day of

Thanksgiving for them never to be forgotten.

Mr. Bedford consented to become one of the trustees of

the school, and in that capacity, and as a worker for it, he

has been connected with it for eighteen years. During this

time he has borne the school upon his heart night and

day, and is never so happy as when he is performing some

service, no matter how humble, for it. He completely oblit-

erates himself in everything, and looks only for permis-

sion to serve where service is most disagreeable, and where

others would not be attracted. In all my relations with

him he has seemed to me to approach as nearly to the

spirit of the Master as almost any man I ever met.

A little later there came into the service of the school

another man, quite young at the time, and fresh from

Hampton, without whose service the school never could

100

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have become what it is. This was Mr. Warren Logan, who

now for seventeen years has been the treasurer of the

Institute, and the acting principal during my absence. He

has always shown a degree of unselfishness and an amount

of business tact, coupled with a clear judgment, that has

kept the school in good condition no matter how long I

have been absent from it. During all the financial stress

through which the school has passed, his patience and

faith in our ultimate success have not left him.

As soon as our first building was near enough to comple-

tion so that we could occupy a portion of it—which was

near the middle of the second year of the school—we

opened a boarding department. Students had begun com-

ing from quite a distance, and in such increasing numbers

that we felt more and more that we were merely skimming

over the surface, in that we were not getting hold of the

students in their home life.

We had nothing but the students and their appetites with

which to begin a boarding department. No provision had

been made in the new building for a kitchen and dining

room; but we discovered that by digging out a large amount

of earth from under the building we could make a partially

lighted basement room that could be used for a kitchen

and dining room. Again I called on the students to volun-

teer for work, this time to assist in digging out the base-

ment. This they did, and in a few weeks we had a place to

cook and eat in, although it was very rough and uncom-

fortable. Any one seeing the place now would never believe

that it was once used for a dining room.

The most serious problem, though, was to get the board-

ing department started off in running order, with nothing

to do with in the way of furniture, and with no money

with which to buy anything. The merchants in the town

would let us have what food we wanted on credit. In fact,

in those earlier years I was constantly embarrassed be-

cause people seemed to have more faith in me than I had

in myself. It was pretty hard to cook, however, with stoves,

and awkward to eat without dishes. At first the cooking

was done out-of-doors, in the old-fashioned, primitive

style, in pots and skillets placed over a fire. Some of the

carpenters’ benches that had been used in the construc-

tion of the building were utilized for tables. As for dishes,

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Booker T. Washington there were too few to make it worth while to spend time

in describing them.

No one connected with the boarding department seemed

to have any idea that meals must be served at certain

fixed and regular hours, and this was a source of great

worry. Everything was so out of joint and so inconvenient

that I feel safe in saying that for the first two weeks

something was wrong at every meal. Either the meat was

not done or had been burnt, or the salt had been left out

of the bread, or the tea had been forgotten.

Early one morning I was standing near the dining-room

door listening to the complaints of the students. The com-

plaints that morning were especially emphatic and numer-

ous, because the whole breakfast had been a failure. One of

the girls who had failed to get any breakfast came out and

went to the well to draw some water to drink and take the

place of the breakfast which she had not been able to get.

When she reached the well, she found that the rope was

broken and that she could get no water. She turned from

the well and said, in the most discouraged tone, not know-

ing that I was where I could hear her, “We can’t even get

water to drink at this school.” I think no one remark ever

came so near discouraging me as that one.

At another time, when Mr. Bedford—whom I have al-

ready spoken of as one of our trustees, and a devoted

friend of the institution—was visiting the school, he was

given a bedroom immediately over the dining room. Early

in the morning he was awakened by a rather animated

discussion between two boys in the dining room below.

The discussion was over the question as to whose turn it

was to use the coffee-cup that morning. One boy won the

case by proving that for three mornings he had not had an

opportunity to use the cup at all.

But gradually, with patience and hard work, we brought

order out of chaos, just as will be true of any problem if we

stick to it with patience and wisdom and earnest effort.

As I look back now over that part of our struggle, I am

glad to see that we had it. I am glad that we endured all

those discomforts and inconveniences. I am glad that our

students had to dig out the place for their kitchen and

dining room. I am glad that our first boarding-place was

in the dismal, ill-lighted, and damp basement. Had we

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started in a fine, attractive, convenient room, I fear we

would have “lost our heads” and become “stuck up.” It

means a great deal, I think, to start off on a foundation

which one has made for one’s self.

When our old students return to Tuskegee now, as they

often do, and go into our large, beautiful, well-venti-

lated, and well-lighted dining room, and see tempting,

well-cooked food—largely grown by the students them-

selves—and see tables, neat tablecloths and napkins, and

vases of flowers upon the tables, and hear singing birds,

and note that each meal is served exactly upon the minute,

with no disorder, and with almost no complaint coming

from the hundreds that now fill our dining room, they,

too, often say to me that they are glad that we started as

we did, and built ourselves up year by year, by a slow and

natural process of growth.

Chapter XI. Making Their Beds Before They Could Lie On Them

A little later in the history of the school we had a

visit from General J.F.B. Marshall, the Treasurer of

the Hampton Institute, who had had faith enough

to lend us the first two hundred and fifty dollars with

which to make a payment down on the farm. He remained

with us a week, and made a careful inspection of every-

thing. He seemed well pleased with our progress, and wrote

back interesting and encouraging reports to Hampton. A

little later Miss Mary F. Mackie, the teacher who had given

me the “sweeping” examination when I entered Hamp-

ton, came to see us, and still later General Armstrong

himself came.

At the time of the visits of these Hampton friends the

number of teachers at Tuskegee had increase considerably,

and the most of the new teachers were graduates of the

Hampton Institute. We gave our Hampton friends, espe-

cially General Armstrong, a cordial welcome. They were all

surprised and pleased at the rapid progress that the school

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Booker T. Washington had made within so short a time. The coloured people

from miles around came to the school to get a look at

General Armstrong, about whom they had heard so much.

The General was not only welcomed by the members of my

own race, but by the Southern white people as well.

This first visit which General Armstrong made to Tuskegee

gave me an opportunity to get an insight into his character

such as I had not before had. I refer to his interest in the

Southern white people. Before this I had had the thought

that General Armstrong, having fought the Southern white

man, rather cherished a feeling of bitterness toward the

white South, and was interested in helping only the coloured

man there. But this visit convinced me that I did not know

the greatness and the generosity of the man. I soon learned,

by his visits to the Southern white people, and from his

conversations with them, that he was as anxious about the

prosperity and the happiness of the white race as the black.

He cherished no bitterness against the South, and was happy

when an opportunity offered for manifesting his sympathy.

In all my acquaintance with General Armstrong I never heard

him speak, in public or in private, a single bitter word

against the white man in the South. From his example in

this respect I learned the lesson that great men cultivate

love, and that only little men cherish a spirit of hatred. I

learned that assistance given to the weak makes the one

who gives it strong; and that oppression of the unfortunate

makes one weak.

It is now long ago that I learned this lesson from Gen-

eral Armstrong, and resolved that I would permit no man,

no matter what his colour might be, to narrow and de-

grade my soul by making me hate him. With God’s help, I

believe that I have completely rid myself of any ill feeling

toward the Southern white man for any wrong that he

may have inflicted upon my race. I am made to feel just

as happy now when I am rendering service to Southern

white men as when the service is rendered to a member of

my own race. I pity from the bottom of my heart any

individual who is so unfortunate as to get into the habit

of holding race prejudice.

The more I consider the subject, the more strongly I am

convinced that the most harmful effect of the practice to

which the people in certain sections of the South have

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felt themselves compelled to resort, in order to get rid of

the force of the Negroes’ ballot, is not wholly in the wrong

done to the Negro, but in the permanent injury to the

morals of the white man. The wrong to the Negro is tem-

porary, but to the morals of the white man the injury is

permanent. I have noted time and time again that when

an individual perjures himself in order to break the force

of the black man’s ballot, he soon learns to practise dis-

honesty in other relations of life, not only where the Ne-

gro is concerned, but equally so where a white man is

concerned. The white man who begins by cheating a Ne-

gro usually ends by cheating a white man. The white man

who begins to break the law by lynching a Negro soon

yields to the temptation to lynch a white man. All this, it

seems to me, makes it important that the whole Nation

lend a hand in trying to lift the burden of ignorance from

the South.

Another thing that is becoming more apparent each year

in the development of education in the South is the influ-

ence of General Armstrong’s idea of education; and this

not upon the blacks alone, but upon the whites also. At

the present time there is almost no Southern state that is

not putting forth efforts in the direction of securing in-

dustrial education for its white boys and girls, and in

most cases it is easy to trace the history of these efforts

back to General Armstrong.

Soon after the opening of our humble boarding depart-

ment students began coming to us in still larger numbers.

For weeks we not only had to contend with the difficulty

of providing board, with no money, but also with that of

providing sleeping accommodations. For this purpose we

rented a number of cabins near the school. These cabins

were in a dilapidated condition, and during the winter

months the students who occupied them necessarily suf-

fered from the cold. We charge the students eight dollars

a month—all they were able to pay—for their board. This

included, besides board, room, fuel, and washing. We also

gave the students credit on their board bills for all the

work which they did for the school which was of any value

to the institution. The cost of tuition, which was fifty

dollars a year for each student, we had to secure then, as

now, wherever we could.

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Booker T. Washington This small charge in cash gave us no capital with which

to start a boarding department. The weather during the

second winter of our work was very cold. We were not able

to provide enough bed-clothes to keep the students warm.

In fact, for some time we were not able to provide, except

in a few cases, bedsteads and mattresses of any kind.

During the coldest nights I was so troubled about the

discomfort of the students that I could not sleep myself.

I recall that on several occasions I went in the middle of

the night to the shanties occupied by the young men, for

the purpose of confronting them. Often I found some of

them sitting huddled around a fire, with the one blanket

which we had been able to provide wrapped around them,

trying in this way to keep warm. During the whole night

some of them did not attempt to lie down. One morning,

when the night previous had been unusually cold, I asked

those of the students in the chapel who thought that

they had been frostbitten during the night to raise their

hands. Three hands went up. Notwithstanding these expe-

riences, there was almost no complaining on the part of

the students. They knew that we were doing the best that

we could for them. They were happy in the privilege of

being permitted to enjoy any kind of opportunity that

would enable them to improve their condition. They were

constantly asking what they might do to lighten the bur-

dens of the teachers.

I have heard it stated more than once, both in the

North and in the South, that coloured people would not

obey and respect each other when one member of the race

is placed in a position of authority over others. In regard

to this general belief and these statements, I can say that

during the nineteen years of my experience at Tuskegee I

never, either by word or act, have been treated with dis-

respect by any student or officer connected with the in-

stitution. On the other hand, I am constantly embar-

rassed by the many acts of thoughtful kindness. The stu-

dents do not seem to want to see me carry a large book or

a satchel or any kind of a burden through the grounds. In

such cases more than one always offers to relieve me. I

almost never go out of my office when the rain is falling

that some student does not come to my side with an

umbrella and ask to be allowed to hold it over me.

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While writing upon this subject, it is a pleasure for me

to add that in all my contact with the white people of

the South I have never received a single personal insult.

The white people in and near Tuskegee, to an especial

degree, seem to count it as a privilege to show me all

the respect within their power, and often go out of their

way to do this.

Not very long ago I was making a journey between Dal-

las (Texas) and Houston. In some way it became known in

advance that I was on the train. At nearly every station at

which the train stopped, numbers of white people, in-

cluding in most cases of the officials of the town, came

aboard and introduced themselves and thanked me heart-

ily for the work that I was trying to do for the South.

On another occasion, when I was making a trip from

Augusta, Georgia, to Atlanta, being rather tired from much

travel, I road in a Pullman sleeper. When I went into the

car, I found there two ladies from Boston whom I knew

well. These good ladies were perfectly ignorant, it seems,

of the customs of the South, and in the goodness of their

hearts insisted that I take a seat with them in their sec-

tion. After some hesitation I consented. I had been there

but a few minutes when one of them, without my knowl-

edge, ordered supper to be served for the three of us. This

embarrassed me still further. The car was full of Southern

white men, most of whom had their eyes on our party.

When I found that supper had been ordered, I tried to

contrive some excuse that would permit me to leave the

section, but the ladies insisted that I must eat with them.

I finally settled back in my seat with a sigh, and said to

myself, “I am in for it now, sure.”

To add further to the embarrassment of the situation,

soon after the supper was placed on the table one of the

ladies remembered that she had in her satchel a special

kind of tea which she wished served, and as she said she

felt quite sure the porter did not know how to brew it

properly, she insisted upon getting up and preparing and

serving it herself. At last the meal was over; and it seemed

the longest one that I had ever eaten. When we were

through, I decided to get myself out of the embarrassing

situation and go to the smoking-room, where most of the

men were by that time, to see how the land lay. In the

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Booker T. Washington meantime, however, it had become known in some way

throughout the car who I was. When I went into the smok-

ing-room I was never more surprised in my life than when

each man, nearly every one of them a citizen of Georgia,

came up and introduced himself to me and thanked me

earnestly for the work that I was trying to do for the

whole South. This was not flattery, because each one of

these individuals knew that he had nothing to gain by

trying to flatter me.

From the first I have sought to impress the students

with the idea that Tuskegee is not my institution, or that

of the officers, but that it is their institution, and that

they have as much interest in it as any of the trustees or

instructors. I have further sought to have them feel that

I am at the institution as their friend and adviser, and not

as their overseer. It has been my aim to have them speak

with directness and frankness about anything that con-

cerns the life of the school. Two or three times a year I

ask the students to write me a letter criticising or making

complaints or suggestions about anything connected with

the institution. When this is not done, I have them meet

me in the chapel for a heart-to-heart talk about the con-

duct of the school. There are no meetings with our stu-

dents that I enjoy more than these, and none are more

helpful to me in planning for the future. These meetings,

it seems to me, enable me to get at the very heart of all

that concerns the school. Few things help an individual

more than to place responsibility upon him, and to let him

know that you trust him. When I have read of labour troubles

between employers and employees, I have often thought

that many strikes and similar disturbances might be avoided

if the employers would cultivate the habit of getting nearer

to their employees, of consulting and advising with them,

and letting them feel that the interests of the two are the

same. Every individual responds to confidence, and this is

not more true of any race than of the Negroes. Let them

once understand that you are unselfishly interested in them,

and you can lead them to any extent.

It was my aim from the first at Tuskegee to not only

have the buildings erected by the students themselves,

but to have them make their own furniture as far as was

possible. I now marvel at the patience of the students

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while sleeping upon the floor while waiting for some kind

of a bedstead to be constructed, or at their sleeping with-

out any kind of a mattress while waiting for something

that looked like a mattress to be made.

In the early days we had very few students who had

been used to handling carpenters’ tools, and the bed-

steads made by the students then were very rough and

very weak. Not unfrequently when I went into the stu-

dents’ rooms in the morning I would find at least two

bedsteads lying about on the floor. The problem of pro-

viding mattresses was a difficult one to solve. We finally

mastered this, however, by getting some cheap cloth and

sewing pieces of this together as to make large bags.

These bags we filled with the pine straw—or, as it is some-

times called, pine needles—which we secured from the

forests near by. I am glad to say that the industry of

mattress-making has grown steadily since then, and has

been improved to such an extent that at the present time

it is an important branch of the work which is taught

systematically to a number of our girls, and that the mat-

tresses that now come out of the mattress-shop at Tuskegee

are about as good as those bought in the average store.

For some time after the opening of the boarding depart-

ment we had no chairs in the students’ bedrooms or in the

dining rooms. Instead of chairs we used stools which the

students constructed by nailing together three pieces of

rough board. As a rule, the furniture in the students’ rooms

during the early days of the school consisted of a bed,

some stools, and sometimes a rough table made by the

students. The plan of having the students make the furni-

ture is still followed, but the number of pieces in a room

has been increased, and the workmanship has so improved

that little fault can be found with the articles now. One

thing that I have always insisted upon at Tuskegee is that

everywhere there should be absolute cleanliness. Over and

over again the students were reminded in those first years—

and are reminded now—that people would excuse us for

our poverty, for our lack of comforts and conveniences,

but that they would not excuse us for dirt.

Another thing that has been insisted upon at the school

is the use of the tooth-brush. “The gospel of the tooth-

brush,” as General Armstrong used to call it, is part of our

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Booker T. Washington creed at Tuskegee. No student is permitted to retain who

does not keep and use a tooth-brush. Several times, in

recent years, students have come to us who brought with

them almost no other article except a tooth-brush. They

had heard from the lips of other students about our in-

sisting upon the use of this, and so, to make a good

impression, they brought at least a tooth-brush with them.

I remember that one morning, not long ago, I went with

the lady principal on her usual morning tour of inspection

of the girls’ rooms. We found one room that contained

three girls who had recently arrived at the school. When I

asked them if they had tooth-brushes, one of the girls

replied, pointing to a brush: “Yes, sir. That is our brush.

We bought it together, yesterday.” It did not take them

long to learn a different lesson.

It has been interesting to note the effect that the use

of the tooth-brush has had in bringing about a higher

degree of civilization among the students. With few ex-

ceptions, I have noticed that, if we can get a student to

the point where, when the first or second tooth-brush

disappears, he of his own motion buys another, I have not

been disappointed in the future of that individual. Abso-

lute cleanliness of the body has been insisted upon from

the first. The students have been taught to bathe as regu-

larly as to take their meals. This lesson we began teaching

before we had anything in the shape of a bath-house.

Most of the students came from plantation districts, and

often we had to teach them how to sleep at night; that

is, whether between the two sheets—after we got to the

point where we could provide them two sheets—or under

both of them. Naturally I found it difficult to teach them

to sleep between two sheets when we were able to supply

but one. The importance of the use of the night-gown

received the same attention.

For a long time one of the most difficult tasks was to

teach the students that all the buttons were to be kept

on their clothes, and that there must be no torn places or

grease-spots. This lesson, I am pleased to be able to say,

has been so thoroughly learned and so faithfully handed

down from year to year by one set of students to another

that often at the present time, when the students march

out of the chapel in the evening and their dress is in-

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spected, as it is every night, not one button is found to

be missing.

Chapter XII. Raising Money

W hen we opened our boarding department, we

provided rooms in the attic of Porter Hall, our

first building, for a number of girls. But the

number of students, of both sexes, continued to increase.

We could find rooms outside the school grounds for many

of the young men, but the girls we did not care to expose

in this way. Very soon the problem of providing more rooms

for the girls, as well as a larger boarding department for

all the students, grew serious. As a result, we finally de-

cided to undertake the construction of a still larger build-

ing—a building that would contain rooms for the girls

and boarding accommodations for all.

After having had a preliminary sketch of the needed

building made, we found that it would cost about ten

thousand dollars. We had no money whatever with which

to begin; still we decided to give the needed building a

name. We knew we could name it, even though we were in

doubt about our ability to secure the means for its con-

struction. We decided to call the proposed building Ala-

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Booker T. Washington bama Hall, in honour of the state in which we were

labouring. Again Miss Davidson began making efforts to

enlist the interest and help of the coloured and white

people in and near Tuskegee. They responded willingly, in

proportion to their means. The students, as in the case of

our first building, Porter Hall, began digging out the dirt

in order to allow the laying of the foundations.

When we seemed at the end of our resources, so far as

securing money was concerned, something occurred which

showed the greatness of General Armstrong—something

which proved how far he was above the ordinary indi-

vidual. When we were in the midst of great anxiety as to

where and how we were to get funds for the new building,

I received a telegram from General Armstrong asking me if

I could spend a month travelling with him through the

North, and asking me, if I could do so, to come to Hamp-

ton at once. Of course I accepted General Armstrong’s

invitation, and went to Hampton immediately. On arriv-

ing there I found that the General had decided to take a

quartette of singers through the North, and hold meet-

ings for a month in important cities, at which meetings

he and I were to speak. Imagine my surprise when the

General told me, further, that these meetings were to be

held, not in the interests of Hampton, but in the interests

of Tuskegee, and that the Hampton Institute was to be

responsible for all the expenses.

Although he never told me so in so many words, I found

that General Armstrong took this method of introducing

me to the people of the North, as well as for the sake of

securing some immediate funds to be used in the erection

of Alabama Hall. A weak and narrow man would have rea-

soned that all the money which came to Tuskegee in this

way would be just so much taken from the Hampton In-

stitute; but none of these selfish or short-sighted feelings

ever entered the breast of General Armstrong. He was too

big to be little, too good to be mean. He knew that the

people in the North who gave money gave it for the pur-

pose of helping the whole cause of Negro civilization, and

not merely for the advancement of any one school. The

General knew, too, that the way to strengthen Hampton

was to make it a centre of unselfish power in the working

out of the whole Southern problem.

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In regard to the addresses which I was to make in the

North, I recall just one piece of advice which the General

gave me. He said: “Give them an idea for every word.” I

think it would be hard to improve upon this advice; and it

might be made to apply to all public speaking. From that

time to the present I have always tried to keep his advice

in mind.

Meetings were held in New York, Brooklyn, Boston, Phila-

delphia, and other large cities, and at all of these meet-

ings General Armstrong pleased, together with myself, for

help, not for Hampton, but for Tuskegee. At these meet-

ings an especial effort was made to secure help for the

building of Alabama Hall, as well as to introduce the school

to the attention of the general public. In both these re-

spects the meetings proved successful.

After that kindly introduction I began going North alone

to secure funds. During the last fifteen years I have been

compelled to spend a large proportion of my time away

from the school, in an effort to secure money to provide

for the growing needs of the institution. In my efforts to

get funds I have had some experiences that may be of

interest to my readers. Time and time again I have been

asked, by people who are trying to secure money for phil-

anthropic purposes, what rule or rules I followed to se-

cure the interest and help of people who were able to

contribute money to worthy objects. As far as the science

of what is called begging can be reduced to rules, I would

say that I have had but two rules. First, always to do my

whole duty regarding making our work known to individu-

als and organizations; and, second, not to worry about

the results. This second rule has been the hardest for me

to live up to. When bills are on the eve of falling due, with

not a dollar in hand with which to meet them, it is pretty

difficult to learn not to worry, although I think I am

learning more and more each year that all worry simply

consumes, and to no purpose, just so much physical and

mental strength that might otherwise be given to effec-

tive work. After considerable experience in coming into

contact with wealthy and noted men, I have observed

that those who have accomplished the greatest results

are those who “keep under the body”; are those who never

grow excited or lose self-control, but are always calm,

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Booker T. Washington self-possessed, patient, and polite. I think that President

William McKinley is the best example of a man of this

class that I have ever seen.

In order to be successful in any kind of undertaking, I

think the main thing is for one to grow to the point where

he completely forgets himself; that is, to lose himself in a

great cause. In proportion as one loses himself in the way,

in the same degree does he get the highest happiness out

of his work.

My experience in getting money for Tuskegee has taught

me to have no patience with those people who are always

condemning the rich because they are rich, and because

they do not give more to objects of charity. In the first

place, those who are guilty of such sweeping criticisms do

not know how many people would be made poor, and how

much suffering would result, if wealthy people were to

part all at once with any large proportion of their wealth

in a way to disorganize and cripple great business enter-

prises. Then very few persons have any idea of the large

number of applications for help that rich people are con-

stantly being flooded with. I know wealthy people who

receive as much as twenty calls a day for help. More than

once when I have gone into the offices of rich men, I have

found half a dozen persons waiting to see them, and all

come for the same purpose, that of securing money. And

all these calls in person, to say nothing of the applica-

tions received through the mails. Very few people have

any idea of the amount of money given away by persons

who never permit their names to be known. I have often

heard persons condemned for not giving away money, who,

to my own knowledge, were giving away thousands of

dollars every year so quietly that the world knew nothing

about it.

As an example of this, there are two ladies in New York,

whose names rarely appear in print, but who, in a quiet

way, have given us the means with which to erect three

large and important buildings during the last eight years.

Besides the gift of these buildings, they have made other

generous donations to the school. And they not only help

Tuskegee, but they are constantly seeking opportunities

to help other worthy causes.

Although it has been my privilege to be the medium

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through which a good many hundred thousand dollars have

been received for the work at Tuskegee, I have always

avoided what the world calls “begging.” I often tell people

that I have never “begged” any money, and that I am not

a “beggar.” My experience and observation have convinced

me that persistent asking outright for money from the

rich does not, as a rule, secure help. I have usually pro-

ceeded on the principle that persons who possess sense

enough to earn money have sense enough to know how to

give it away, and that the mere making known of the facts

regarding Tuskegee, and especially the facts regarding the

work of the graduates, has been more effective than out-

right begging. I think that the presentation of facts, on a

high, dignified plane, is all the begging that most rich

people care for.

While the work of going from door to door and from

office to office is hard, disagreeable, and costly in bodily

strength, yet it has some compensations. Such work gives

one a rare opportunity to study human nature. It also has

its compensations in giving one an opportunity to meet

some of the best people in the world—to be more cor-

rect, I think I should say the best people in the world.

When one takes a broad survey of the country, he will find

that the most useful and influential people in it are those

who take the deepest interest in institutions that exist for

the purpose of making the world better.

At one time, when I was in Boston, I called at the door

of a rather wealthy lady, and was admitted to the vesti-

bule and sent up my card. While I was waiting for an

answer, her husband came in, and asked me in the most

abrupt manner what I wanted. When I tried to explain the

object of my call, he became still more ungentlemanly in

his words and manner, and finally grew so excited that I

left the house without waiting for a reply from the lady. A

few blocks from that house I called to see a gentleman

who received me in the most cordial manner. He wrote me

his check for a generous sum, and then, before I had had

an opportunity to thank him, said: “I am so grateful to

you, Mr. Washington, for giving me the opportunity to

help a good cause. It is a privilege to have a share in it.

We in Boston are constantly indebted to you for doing our

work.” My experience in securing money convinces me

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Booker T. Washington that the first type of man is growing more rare all the

time, and that the latter type is increasing; that is, that,

more and more, rich people are coming to regard men and

women who apply to them for help for worthy objects,

not as beggars, but as agents for doing their work.

In the city of Boston I have rarely called upon an indi-

vidual for funds that I have not been thanked for calling,

usually before I could get an opportunity to thank the

donor for the money. In that city the donors seem to feel,

in a large degree, that an honour is being conferred upon

them in their being permitted to give. Nowhere else have

I met with, in so large a measure, this fine and Christlike

spirit as in the city of Boston, although there are many

notable instances of it outside that city. I repeat my be-

lief that the world is growing in the direction of giving. I

repeat that the main rule by which I have been guided in

collecting money is to do my full duty in regard to giving

people who have money an opportunity for help.

In the early years of the Tuskegee school I walked the

streets or travelled country roads in the North for days

and days without receiving a dollar. Often as it happened,

when during the week I had been disappointed in not

getting a cent from the very individuals from whom I

most expected help, and when I was almost broken down

and discouraged, that generous help has come from some

one who I had had little idea would give at all.

I recall that on one occasion I obtained information

that led me to believe that a gentleman who lived about

two miles out in the country from Stamford, Conn., might

become interest in our efforts at Tuskegee if our condi-

tions and needs were presented to him. On an unusually

cold and stormy day I walked the two miles to see him.

After some difficulty I succeeded in securing an interview

with him. He listened with some degree of interest to

what I had to say, but did not give me anything. I could

not help having the feeling that, in a measure, the three

hours that I had spent in seeing him had been thrown

away. Still, I had followed my usual rule of doing my duty.

If I had not seen him, I should have felt unhappy over

neglect of duty.

Two years after this visit a letter came to Tuskegee from

this man, which read like this: “Enclosed I send you a New

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UP FROM SLAVERY

York draft for ten thousand dollars, to be used in further-

ance of your work. I had placed this sum in my will for your

school, but deem it wiser to give it to you while I live. I

recall with pleasure your visit to me two years ago.”

I can hardly imagine any occurrence which could have

given me more genuine satisfaction than the receipt of

this draft. It was by far the largest single donation which

up to that time the school had ever received. It came at

a time when an unusually long period had passed since we

had received any money. We were in great distress because

of lack of funds, and the nervous strain was tremendous.

It is difficult for me to think of any situation that is more

trying on the nerves than that of conducting a large insti-

tution, with heavy obligations to meet, without knowing

where the money is to come from to meet these obliga-

tions from month to month.

In our case I felt a double responsibility, and this made

the anxiety all the more intense. If the institution had

been officered by white persons, and had failed, it would

have injured the cause of Negro education; but I knew

that the failure of our institution, officered by Negroes,

would not only mean the loss of a school, but would

cause people, in a large degree, to lose faith in the ability

of the entire race. The receipt of this draft for ten thou-

sand dollars, under all these circumstances, partially lifted

a burden that had been pressing down upon me for days.

From the beginning of our work to the present I have

always had the feeling, and lose no opportunity to im-

press our teachers with the same idea, that the school

will always be supported in proportion as the inside of the

institution is kept clean and pure and wholesome.

The first time I ever saw the late Collis P. Huntington,

the great railroad man, he gave me two dollars for our

school. The last time I saw him, which was a few months

before he died, he gave me fifty thousand dollars toward

our endowment fund. Between these two gifts there were

others of generous proportions which came every year from

both Mr. and Mrs. Huntington.

Some people may say that it was Tuskegee’s good luck

that brought to us this gift of fifty thousand dollars. No,

it was not luck. It was hard work. Nothing ever comes to

me, that is worth having, except as the result of hard

117

Booker T. Washington work. When Mr. Huntington gave me the first two dollars,

I did not blame him for not giving me more, but made up

my mind that I was going to convince him by tangible

results that we were worthy of larger gifts. For a dozen

years I made a strong effort to convince Mr. Huntington

of the value of our work. I noted that just in proportion

as the usefulness of the school grew, his donations in-

creased. Never did I meet an individual who took a more

kindly and sympathetic interest in our school than did Mr.

Huntington. He not only gave money to us, but took time

in which to advise me, as a father would a son, about the

general conduct of the school.

More than once I have found myself in some pretty

tight places while collecting money in the North. The fol-

lowing incident I have never related but once before, for

the reason that I feared that people would not believe it.

One morning I found myself in Providence, Rhode Island,

without a cent of money with which to buy breakfast. In

crossing the street to see a lady from whom I hoped to

get some money, I found a bright new twenty-five-cent

piece in the middle of the street track. I not only had this

twenty-five cents for my breakfast, but within a few min-

utes I had a donation from the lady on whom I had started

to call.

At one of our Commencements I was bold enough to

invite the Rev. E. Winchester Donald, D.D., rector of Trin-

ity Church, Boston, to preach the Commencement ser-

mon. As we then had no room large enough to accommo-

date all who would be present, the place of meeting was

under a large improvised arbour, built partly of brush and

partly of rough boards. Soon after Dr. Donald had begun

speaking, the rain came down in torrents, and he had to

stop, while someone held an umbrella over him.

The boldness of what I had done never dawned upon me

until I saw the picture made by the rector of Trinity Church

standing before that large audience under an old umbrella,

waiting for the rain to cease so that he could go on with

his address.

It was not very long before the rain ceased and Dr.

Donald finished his sermon; and an excellent sermon it

was, too, in spite of the weather. After he had gone to his

room, and had gotten the wet threads of his clothes dry,

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UP FROM SLAVERY

Dr. Donald ventured the remark that a large chapel at

Tuskegee would not be out of place. The next day a letter

came from two ladies who were then travelling in Italy,

saying that they had decided to give us the money for

such a chapel as we needed.

A short time ago we received twenty thousand dollars

from Mr. Andrew Carnegie, to be used for the purpose of

erecting a new library building. Our first library and read-

ing-room were in a corner of a shanty, and the whole

thing occupied a space about five by twelve feet. It re-

quired ten years of work before I was able to secure Mr.

Carnegie’s interest and help. The first time I saw him, ten

years ago, he seemed to take but little interest in our

school, but I was determined to show him that we were

worthy of his help. After ten years of hard work I wrote

him a letter reading as follows:

December 15, 1900.

Mr. Andrew Carnegie, 5 W. Fifty-first St., New York.

Dear Sir: Complying with the request which you made of

me when I saw you at your residence a few days ago, I

now submit in writing an appeal for a library building for

our institution.

We have 1100 students, 86 officers and instructors, to-

gether with their families, and about 200 coloured people

living near the school, all of whom would make use of the

library building.

We have over 12,000 books, periodicals, etc., gifts from

our friends, but we have no suitable place for them, and

we have no suitable reading-room.

Our graduates go to work in every section of the South,

and whatever knowledge might be obtained in the li-

brary would serve to assist in the elevation of the whole

Negro race.

Such a building as we need could be erected for about

$20,000. All of the work for the building, such as

brickmaking, brick-masonry, carpentry, blacksmithing, etc.,

would be done by the students. The money which you

would give would not only supply the building, but the

erection of the building would give a large number of

students an opportunity to learn the building trades, and

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Booker T. Washington the students would use the money paid to them to keep

themselves in school. I do not believe that a similar amount

of money often could be made go so far in uplifting a

whole race.

If you wish further information, I shall be glad to fur-

nish it.

Yours truly,

Booker T. Washington, Principal.

The next mail brought back the following reply: “I will

be very glad to pay the bills for the library building as

they are incurred, to the extent of twenty thousand dol-

lars, and I am glad of this opportunity to show the inter-

est I have in your noble work.”

I have found that strict business methods go a long way

in securing the interest of rich people. It has been my

constant aim at Tuskegee to carry out, in our financial

and other operations, such business methods as would be

approved of by any New York banking house.

I have spoken of several large gifts to the school; but

by far the greater proportion of the money that has built

up the institution has come in the form of small dona-

tions from persons of moderate means. It is upon these

small gifts, which carry with them the interest of hun-

dreds of donors, that any philanthropic work must depend

largely for its support. In my efforts to get money I have

often been surprised at the patience and deep interest of

the ministers, who are besieged on every hand and at all

hours of the day for help. If no other consideration had

convinced me of the value of the Christian life, the Christlike

work which the Church of all denominations in America

has done during the last thirty-five years for the elevation

of the black man would have made me a Christian. In a

large degree it has been the pennies, the nickels, and the

dimes which have come from the Sunday-schools, the

Christian Endeavour societies, and the missionary societ-

ies, as well as from the church proper, that have helped to

elevate the Negro at so rapid a rate.

This speaking of small gifts reminds me to say that very

few Tuskegee graduates fail to send us an annual contri-

bution. These contributions range from twenty-five cents

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up to ten dollars.

Soon after beginning our third year’s work we were sur-

prised to receive money from three special sources, and

up to the present time we have continued to receive help

from them. First, the State Legislature of Alabama in-

creased its annual appropriation from two thousand dol-

lars to three thousand dollars; I might add that still later

it increased this sum to four thousand five hundred dol-

lars a year. The effort to secure this increase was led by

the Hon. M.F. Foster, the member of the Legislature from

Tuskegee. Second, we received one thousand dollars from

the John F. Slater Fund. Our work seemed to please the

trustees of this fund, as they soon began increasing their

annual grant. This has been added to from time to time

until at present we receive eleven thousand dollars annu-

ally from the Fund. The other help to which I have re-

ferred came in the shape of an allowance from the Peabody

Fund. This was at first five hundred dollars, but it has

since been increased to fifteen hundred dollars.

The effort to secure help from the Slater and Peabody

Funds brought me into contact with two rare men—men

who have had much to do in shaping the policy for the

education of the Negro. I refer to the Hon. J.L.M. Curry,

of Washington, who is the general agent for these two

funds, and Mr. Morris K. Jessup, of New York. Dr. Curry is

a native of the South, an ex-Confederate soldier, yet I do

not believe there is any man in the country who is more

deeply interest in the highest welfare of the Negro than

Dr. Curry, or one who is more free from race prejudice. He

enjoys the unique distinction of possessing to an equal

degree of confidence of the black man and the Southern

white man. I shall never forget the first time I met him.

It was in Richmond, Va., where he was then living. I had

heard much about him. When I first went into his pres-

ence, trembling because of my youth and inexperience, he

took me by the hand so cordially, and spoke such encour-

aging words, and gave me such helpful advice regarding

the proper course to pursue, that I came to know him

then, as I have known him ever since, as a high example

of one who is constantly and unselfishly at work for the

betterment of humanity.

Mr. Morris K. Jessup, the treasurer of the Slater Fund, I

121

Booker T. Washington refer to because I know of no man of wealth and large and

complication business responsibilities who gives not only

money but his time and thought to the subject of the

proper method of elevating the Negro to the extent that

is true of Mr. Jessup. It is very largely through this effort

and influence that during the last few years the subject of

industrial education has assumed the importance that it

has, and been placed on its present footing.

Chapter XIII. Two Thousand Miles For A Five-Minute Speech

S oon after the opening of our boarding department,

quite a number of students who evidently were

worthy, but who were so poor that they did not

have any money to pay even the small charges at the

school, began applying for admission. This class was com-

posed of both men and women. It was a great trial to

refuse admission to these applicants, and in 1884 we es-

tablished a night-school to accommodate a few of them.

The night-school was organized on a plan similar to the

one which I had helped to establish at Hampton. At first

it was composed of about a dozen students. They were

admitted to the night-school only when they had no money

with which to pay any part of their board in the regular

day-school. It was further required that they must work

for ten hours during the day at some trade or industry,

and study academic branches for two hours during the

evening. This was the requirement for the first one or two

years of their stay. They were to be paid something above

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the cost of their board, with the understanding that all of

their earnings, except a very small part, were to be re-

served in the school’s treasury, to be used for paying their

board in the regular day-school after they had entered

that department. The night-school, started in this man-

ner, has grown until there are at present four hundred and

fifty-seven students enrolled in it alone.

There could hardly be a more severe test of a student’s

worth than this branch of the Institute’s worth. It is largely

because it furnishes such a good opportunity to test the

backbone of a student that I place such high value upon

our night-school. Any one who is willing to work ten hours

a day at the brick-yard, or in the laundry, through one or

two years, in order that he or she may have the privilege

of studying academic branches for two hours in the evening,

has enough bottom to warrant being further educated.

After the student has left the night-school he enters

the day-school, where he takes academic branches four

days in a week, and works at his trade two days. Besides

this he usually works at his trade during the three summer

months. As a rule, after a student has succeeded in going

through the night-school test, he finds a way to finish

the regular course in industrial and academic training. No

student, no matter how much money he may be able to

command, is permitted to go through school without doing

manual labour. In fact, the industrial work is now as popular

as the academic branches. Some of the most successful

men and women who have graduated from the institution

obtained their start in the night-school.

While a great deal of stress is laid upon the industrial

side of the work at Tuskegee, we do not neglect or over-

look in any degree the religious and spiritual side. The

school is strictly undenominational, but it is thoroughly

Christian, and the spiritual training or the students is not

neglected. Our preaching service, prayer-meetings, Sun-

day-school, Christian Endeavour Society, Young Men’s Chris-

tian Association, and various missionary organizations,

testify to this.

In 1885, Miss Olivia Davidson, to whom I have already

referred as being largely responsible for the success of the

school during its early history, and I were married. During

our married life she continued to divide her time and

123

Booker T. Washington strength between our home and the work for the school.

She not only continued to work in the school at Tuskegee,

but also kept up her habit of going North to secure funds.

In 1889 she died, after four years of happy married life

and eight years of hard and happy work for the school.

She literally wore herself out in her never ceasing efforts

in behalf of the work that she so dearly loved. During our

married life there were born to us two bright, beautiful

boys, Booker Taliaferro and Ernest Davidson. The older of

these, Booker, has already mastered the brick-maker’s trade

at Tuskegee.

I have often been asked how I began the practice of

public speaking. In answer I would say that I never planned

to give any large part of my life to speaking in public. I

have always had more of an ambition to DO things than

merely to talk ABOUT doing them. It seems that when I

went North with General Armstrong to speak at the series

of public meetings to which I have referred, the President

of the National Educational Association, the Hon. Thomas

W. Bicknell, was present at one of those meetings and

heard me speak. A few days afterward he sent me an invi-

tation to deliver an address at the next meeting of the

Educational Association. This meeting was to be held in

Madison, Wis. I accepted the invitation. This was, in a

sense, the beginning of my public-speaking career.

On the evening that I spoke before the Association there

must have been not far from four thousand persons present.

Without my knowing it, there were a large number of people

present from Alabama, and some from the town of

Tuskegee. These white people afterward frankly told me

that they went to this meeting expecting to hear the

South roundly abused, but were pleasantly surprised to

find that there was no word of abuse in my address. On

the contrary, the South was given credit for all the praise-

worthy things that it had done. A white lady who was

teacher in a college in Tuskegee wrote back to the local

paper that she was gratified, as well as surprised, to note

the credit which I gave the white people of Tuskegee for

their help in getting the school started. This address at

Madison was the first that I had delivered that in any

large measure dealt with the general problem of the races.

Those who heard it seemed to be pleased with what I said

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UP FROM SLAVERY

and with the general position that I took.

When I first came to Tuskegee, I determined that I would

make it my home, that I would take as much pride in the

right actions of the people of the town as any white man

could do, and that I would, at the same time, deplore the

wrong-doing of the people as much as any white man. I

determined never to say anything in a public address in

the North that I would not be willing to say in the South.

I early learned that it is a hard matter to convert an

individual by abusing him, and that this is more often

accomplished by giving credit for all the praiseworthy

actions performed than by calling attention alone to all

the evil done.

While pursuing this policy I have not failed, at the proper

time and in the proper manner, to call attention, in no

uncertain terms, to the wrongs which any part of the

South has been guilty of. I have found that there is a

large element in the South that is quick to respond to

straightforward, honest criticism of any wrong policy. As

a rule, the place to criticise the South, when criticism is

necessary, is in the South—not in Boston. A Boston man

who came to Alabama to criticise Boston would not ef-

fect so much good, I think, as one who had his word of

criticism to say in Boston.

In this address at Madison I took the ground that the

policy to be pursued with references to the races was, by

every honourable means, to bring them together and to

encourage the cultivation of friendly relations, instead of

doing that which would embitter. I further contended

that, in relation to his vote, the Negro should more and

more consider the interests of the community in which he

lived, rather than seek alone to please some one who lived

a thousand miles away from him and from his interests.

In this address I said that the whole future of the Negro

rested largely upon the question as to whether or not he

should make himself, through his skill, intelligence, and

character, of such undeniable value to the community in

which he lived that the community could not dispense

with his presence. I said that any individual who learned

to do something better than anybody else—learned to do

a common thing in an uncommon manner—had solved

his problem, regardless of the colour of his skin, and that

125

Booker T. Washington in proportion as the Negro learned to produce what other

people wanted and must have, in the same proportion

would he be respected.

I spoke of an instance where one of our graduates had

produced two hundred and sixty-six bushels of sweet

potatoes from an acre of ground, in a community where

the average production had been only forty-nine bushels

to the acre. He had been able to do this by reason of his

knowledge of the chemistry of the soil and by his knowl-

edge of improved methods of agriculture. The white farm-

ers in the neighbourhood respected him, and came to

him for ideas regarding the raising of sweet potatoes.

These white farmers honoured and respected him be-

cause he, by his skill and knowledge, had added some-

thing to the wealth and the comfort of the community

in which he lived. I explained that my theory of educa-

tion for the Negro would not, for example, confine him

for all time to farm life—to the production of the best

and the most sweet potatoes—but that, if he succeeded

in this line of industry, he could lay the foundations

upon which his children and grand-children could grow

to higher and more important things in life.

Such, in brief, were some of the views I advocated in

this first address dealing with the broad question of the

relations of the two races, and since that time I have

not found any reason for changing my views on any im-

portant point.

In my early life I used to cherish a feeling of ill will

toward any one who spoke in bitter terms against the

Negro, or who advocated measures that tended to op-

press the black man or take from him opportunities for

growth in the most complete manner. Now, whenever I

hear any one advocating measures that are meant to cur-

tail the development of another, I pity the individual who

would do this. I know that the one who makes this mis-

take does so because of his own lack of opportunity for

the highest kind of growth. I pity him because I know

that he is trying to stop the progress of the world, and

because I know that in time the development and the

ceaseless advance of humanity will make him ashamed of

his weak and narrow position. One might as well try to

stop the progress of a mighty railroad train by throwing

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his body across the track, as to try to stop the growth

of the world in the direction of giving mankind more

intelligence, more culture, more skill, more liberty, and

in the direction of extending more sympathy and more

brotherly kindness.

The address which I delivered at Madison, before the

National Educational Association, gave me a rather wide

introduction in the North, and soon after that opportuni-

ties began offering themselves for me to address audi-

ences there.

I was anxious, however, that the way might also be

opened for me to speak directly to a representative South-

ern white audience. A partial opportunity of this kind,

one that seemed to me might serve as an entering wedge,

presented itself in 1893, when the international meeting

of Christian Workers was held at Atlanta, Ga. When this

invitation came to me, I had engagements in Boston

that seemed to make it impossible for me to speak in

Atlanta. Still, after looking over my list of dates and

places carefully, I found that I could take a train from

Boston that would get me into Atlanta about thirty min-

utes before my address was to be delivered, and that I

could remain in that city before taking another train for

Boston. My invitation to speak in Atlanta stipulated that

I was to confine my address to five minutes. The ques-

tion, then, was whether or not I could put enough into

a five-minute address to make it worth while for me to

make such a trip.

I knew that the audience would be largely composed of

the most influential class of white men and women, and

that it would be a rare opportunity for me to let them

know what we were trying to do at Tuskegee, as well as to

speak to them about the relations of the races. So I de-

cided to make the trip. I spoke for five minutes to an

audience of two thousand people, composed mostly of

Southern and Northern whites. What I said seemed to be

received with favour and enthusiasm. The Atlanta papers

of the next day commented in friendly terms on my ad-

dress, and a good deal was said about it in different parts

of the country. I felt that I had in some degree accom-

plished my object—that of getting a hearing from the

dominant class of the South.

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Booker T. Washington The demands made upon me for public addresses con-

tinued to increase, coming in about equal numbers from

my own people and from Northern whites. I gave as much

time to these addresses as I could spare from the immedi-

ate work at Tuskegee. Most of the addresses in the North

were made for the direct purpose of getting funds with

which to support the school. Those delivered before the

coloured people had for their main object the impressing

upon them the importance of industrial and technical

education in addition to academic and religious training.

I now come to that one of the incidents in my life which

seems to have excited the greatest amount of interest,

and which perhaps went further than anything else in giv-

ing me a reputation that in a sense might be called Na-

tional. I refer to the address which I delivered at the

opening of the Atlanta Cotton states and International

Exposition, at Atlanta, Ga., September 18, 1895.

So much has been said and written about this incident,

and so many questions have been asked me concerning

the address, that perhaps I may be excused for taking up

the matter with some detail. The five-minute address in

Atlanta, which I came from Boston to deliver, was possi-

bly the prime cause for an opportunity being given me to

make the second address there. In the spring of 1895 I

received a telegram from prominent citizens in Atlanta

asking me to accompany a committee from that city to

Washington for the purpose of appearing before a com-

mittee of Congress in the interest of securing Government

help for the Exposition. The committee was composed of

about twenty-five of the most prominent and most influ-

ential white men of Georgia. All the members of this com-

mittee were white men except Bishop Grant, Bishop Gaines,

and myself. The Mayor and several other city and state

officials spoke before the committee. They were followed

by the two coloured bishops. My name was the last on the

list of speakers. I had never before appeared before such a

committee, nor had I ever delivered any address in the

capital of the Nation. I had many misgivings as to what I

ought to say, and as to the impression that my address

would make. While I cannot recall in detail what I said, I

remember that I tried to impress upon the committee,

with all the earnestness and plainness of any language

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that I could command, that if Congress wanted to do

something which would assist in ridding the South of the

race question and making friends between the two races,

it should, in every proper way, encourage the material and

intellectual growth of both races. I said that the Atlanta

Exposition would present an opportunity for both races

to show what advance they had made since freedom, and

would at the same time afford encouragement to them to

make still greater progress.

I tried to emphasize the fact that while the Negro should

not be deprived by unfair means of the franchise, political

agitation alone would not save him, and that back of the

ballot he must have property, industry, skill, economy,

intelligence, and character, and that no race without these

elements could permanently succeed. I said that in grant-

ing the appropriation Congress could do something that

would prove to be of real and lasting value to both races,

and that it was the first great opportunity of the kind

that had been presented since the close of the Civil War.

I spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, and was surprised

at the close of my address to receive the hearty congratu-

lations of the Georgia committee and of the members of

Congress who were present. The Committee was unani-

mous in making a favourable report, and in a few days the

bill passed Congress. With the passing of this bill the suc-

cess of the Atlanta Exposition was assured.

Soon after this trip to Washington the directors of the

Exposition decided that it would be a fitting recognition

of the coloured race to erect a large and attractive build-

ing which should be devoted wholly to showing the progress

of the Negro since freedom. It was further decided to

have the building designed and erected wholly by Negro

mechanics. This plan was carried out. In design, beauty,

and general finish the Negro Building was equal to the

others on the grounds.

After it was decided to have a separate Negro exhibit,

the question arose as to who should take care of it. The

officials of the Exposition were anxious that I should as-

sume this responsibility, but I declined to do so, on the

plea that the work at Tuskegee at that time demanded my

time and strength. Largely at my suggestion, Mr. I. Gar-

land Penn, of Lynchburg, Va., was selected to be at the

129

Booker T. Washington head of the Negro department. I gave him all the aid that

I could. The Negro exhibit, as a whole, was large and

creditable. The two exhibits in this department which at-

tracted the greatest amount of attention were those from

the Hampton Institute and the Tuskegee Institute. The

people who seemed to be the most surprised, as well as

pleased, at what they saw in the Negro Building were the

Southern white people.

As the day for the opening of the Exposition drew near,

the Board of Directors began preparing the programme for

the opening exercises. In the discussion from day to day

of the various features of this programme, the question

came up as to the advisability of putting a member of the

Negro race on for one of the opening addresses, since the

Negroes had been asked to take such a prominent part in

the Exposition. It was argued, further, that such recogni-

tion would mark the good feeling prevailing between the

two races. Of course there were those who were opposed

to any such recognition of the rights of the Negro, but

the Board of Directors, composed of men who represented

the best and most progressive element in the South, had

their way, and voted to invite a black man to speak on the

opening day. The next thing was to decide upon the per-

son who was thus to represent the Negro race. After the

question had been canvassed for several days, the direc-

tors voted unanimously to ask me to deliver one of the

opening-day addresses, and in a few days after that I

received the official invitation.

The receiving of this invitation brought to me a sense of

responsibility that it would be hard for any one not placed

in my position to appreciate. What were my feelings when

this invitation came to me? I remembered that I had

been a slave; that my early years had been spent in the

lowest depths of poverty and ignorance, and that I had

had little opportunity to prepare me for such a responsi-

bility as this. It was only a few years before that time

that any white man in the audience might have claimed

me as his slave; and it was easily possible that some of my

former owners might be present to hear me speak.

I knew, too, that this was the first time in the entire

history of the Negro that a member of my race had been

asked to speak from the same platform with white South-

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UP FROM SLAVERY

ern men and women on any important National occasion.

I was asked now to speak to an audience composed of the

wealth and culture of the white South, the representa-

tives of my former masters. I knew, too, that while the

greater part of my audience would be composed of South-

ern people, yet there would be present a large number of

Northern whites, as well as a great many men and women

of my own race.

I was determined to say nothing that I did not feel

from the bottom of my heart to be true and right. When

the invitation came to me, there was not one word of

intimation as to what I should say or as to what I should

omit. In this I felt that the Board of Directors had paid a

tribute to me. They knew that by one sentence I could

have blasted, in a large degree, the success of the Exposi-

tion. I was also painfully conscious of the fact that, while

I must be true to my own race in my utterances, I had it

in my power to make such an ill-timed address as would

result in preventing any similar invitation being extended

to a black man again for years to come. I was equally

determined to be true to the North, as well as to the best

element of the white South, in what I had to say.

The papers, North and South, had taken up the discus-

sion of my coming speech, and as the time for it drew

near this discussion became more and more widespread.

Not a few of the Southern white papers were unfriendly to

the idea of my speaking. From my own race I received

many suggestions as to what I ought to say. I prepared

myself as best I could for the address, but as the eigh-

teenth of September drew nearer, the heavier my heart

became, and the more I feared that my effort would prove

a failure and a disappointment.

The invitation had come at a time when I was very busy

with my school work, as it was the beginning of our school

year. After preparing my address, I went through it, as I

usually do with those utterances which I consider par-

ticularly important, with Mrs. Washington, and she ap-

proved of what I intended to say. On the sixteenth of

September, the day before I was to start for Atlanta, so

many of the Tuskegee teachers expressed a desire to hear

my address that I consented to read it to them in a body.

When I had done so, and had heard their criticisms and

131

Booker T. Washington comments, I felt somewhat relieved, since they seemed

to think well of what I had to say.

On the morning of September 17, together with Mrs.

Washington and my three children, I started for Atlanta. I

felt a good deal as I suppose a man feels when he is on his

way to the gallows. In passing through the town of

Tuskegee I met a white farmer who lived some distance

out in the country. In a jesting manner this man said:

“Washington, you have spoken before the Northern white

people, the Negroes in the South, and to us country white

people in the South; but Atlanta, to-morrow, you will

have before you the Northern whites, the Southern whites,

and the Negroes all together. I am afraid that you have

got yourself in a tight place.” This farmer diagnosed the

situation correctly, but his frank words did not add any-

thing to my comfort.

In the course of the journey from Tuskegee to Atlanta

both coloured and white people came to the train to point

me out, and discussed with perfect freedom, in my hear-

ings, what was going to take place the next day. We were

met by a committee in Atlanta. Almost the first thing

that I heard when I got off the train in that city was an

expression something like this, from an old coloured man

near by: “Dat’s de man of my race what’s gwine to make a

speech at de Exposition to-morrow. I’se sho’ gwine to

hear him.”

Atlanta was literally packed, at the time, with people

from all parts of the country, and with representatives of

foreign governments, as well as with military and civic

organizations. The afternoon papers had forecasts of the

next day’s proceedings in flaring headlines. All this tended

to add to my burden. I did not sleep much that night. The

next morning, before day, I went carefully over what I

planned to say. I also kneeled down and asked God’s bless-

ing upon my effort. Right here, perhaps, I ought to add

that I make it a rule never to go before an audience, on

any occasion, without asking the blessing of God upon

what I want to say.

I always make it a rule to make especial preparation for

each separate address. No two audiences are exactly alike.

It is my aim to reach and talk to the heart of each indi-

vidual audience, taking it into my confidence very much

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UP FROM SLAVERY

as I would a person. When I am speaking to an audience,

I care little for how what I am saying is going to sound in

the newspapers, or to another audience, or to an indi-

vidual. At the time, the audience before me absorbs all my

sympathy, thought, and energy.

Early in the morning a committee called to escort me to

my place in the procession which was to march to the

Exposition grounds. In this procession were prominent

coloured citizens in carriages, as well as several Negro

military organizations. I noted that the Exposition offi-

cials seemed to go out of their way to see that all of the

coloured people in the procession were properly placed

and properly treated. The procession was about three hours

in reaching the Exposition grounds, and during all of this

time the sun was shining down upon us disagreeably hot.

When we reached the grounds, the heat, together with my

nervous anxiety, made me feel as if I were about ready to

collapse, and to feel that my address was not going to be

a success. When I entered the audience-room, I found it

packed with humanity from bottom to top, and there

were thousands outside who could not get in.

The room was very large, and well suited to public speak-

ing. When I entered the room, there were vigorous cheers

from the coloured portion of the audience, and faint cheers

from some of the white people. I had been told, while I

had been in Atlanta, that while many white people were

going to be present to hear me speak, simply out of curi-

osity, and that others who would be present would be in

full sympathy with me, there was a still larger element of

the audience which would consist of those who were go-

ing to be present for the purpose of hearing me make a

fool of myself, or, at least, of hearing me say some foolish

thing so that they could say to the officials who had

invited me to speak, “I told you so!”

One of the trustees of the Tuskegee Institute, as well as my

personal friend, Mr. William H. Baldwin, Jr. was at the time

General Manager of the Southern Railroad, and happened to

be in Atlanta on that day. He was so nervous about the kind

of reception that I would have, and the effect that my speech

would produce, that he could not persuade himself to go

into the building, but walked back and forth in the grounds

outside until the opening exercises were over.

133

Booker T. Washington Chapter XIV. The Atlanta Exposition Address

T he Atlanta Exposition, at which I had been asked to

make an address as a representative of the Negro

race, as stated in the last chapter, was opened with

a short address from Governor Bullock. After other inter-

esting exercises, including an invocation from Bishop

Nelson, of Georgia, a dedicatory ode by Albert Howell,

Jr., and addresses by the President of the Exposition and

Mrs. Joseph Thompson, the President of the Woman’s Board,

Governor Bullock introduce me with the words, “We have

with us to-day a representative of Negro enterprise and

Negro civilization.”

When I arose to speak, there was considerable cheering,

especially from the coloured people. As I remember it

now, the thing that was uppermost in my mind was the

desire to say something that would cement the friendship

of the races and bring about hearty cooperation between

them. So far as my outward surroundings were concerned,

the only thing that I recall distinctly now is that when I

got up, I saw thousands of eyes looking intently into my

face. The following is the address which I delivered:—

Mr. President and Gentlemen of the Board of Directors

and Citizens.

One-third of the population of the South is of the Negro

race. No enterprise seeking the material, civil, or moral

welfare of this section can disregard this element of our

population and reach the highest success. I but convey to

you, Mr. President and Directors, the sentiment of the

masses of my race when I say that in no way have the

value and manhood of the American Negro been more

fittingly and generously recognized than by the managers

of this magnificent Exposition at every stage of its progress.

It is a recognition that will do more to cement the friend-

ship of the two races than any occurrence since the dawn

of our freedom.

Not only this, but the opportunity here afforded will

awaken among us a new era of industrial progress. Igno-

rant and inexperienced, it is not strange that in the first

years of our new life we began at the top instead of at the

bottom; that a seat in Congress or the state legislature

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UP FROM SLAVERY

was more sought than real estate or industrial skill; that

the political convention or stump speaking had more at-

tractions than starting a dairy farm or truck garden.

A ship lost at sea for many days suddenly sighted a

friendly vessel. From the mast of the unfortunate vessel

was seen a signal, “Water, water; we die of thirst!” The

answer from the friendly vessel at once came back, “Cast

down your bucket where you are.” A second time the sig-

nal, “Water, water; send us water!” ran up from the dis-

tressed vessel, and was answered, “Cast down your bucket

where you are.” And a third and fourth signal for water

was answered, “Cast down your bucket where you are.”

The captain of the distressed vessel, at last heading the

injunction, cast down his bucket, and it came up full of

fresh, sparkling water from the mouth of the Amazon

River. To those of my race who depend on bettering their

condition in a foreign land or who underestimate the im-

portance of cultivating friendly relations with the South-

ern white man, who is their next-door neighbour, I would

say: “Cast down your bucket where you are”—cast it down

in making friends in every manly way of the people of all

races by whom we are surrounded.

Cast it down in agriculture, mechanics, in commerce, in

domestic service, and in the professions. And in this con-

nection it is well to bear in mind that whatever other sins

the South may be called to bear, when it comes to busi-

ness, pure and simple, it is in the South that the Negro is

given a man’s chance in the commercial world, and in

nothing is this Exposition more eloquent than in empha-

sizing this chance. Our greatest danger is that in the great

leap from slavery to freedom we may overlook the fact

that the masses of us are to live by the productions of our

hands, and fail to keep in mind that we shall prosper in

proportion as we learn to dignify and glorify common

labour and put brains and skill into the common occupa-

tions of life; shall prosper in proportion as we learn to

draw the line between the superficial and the substantial,

the ornamental gewgaws of life and the useful. No race

can prosper till it learns that there is as much dignity in

tilling a field as in writing a poem. It is at the bottom of

life we must begin, and not at the top. Nor should we

permit our grievances to overshadow our opportunities.

135

Booker T. Washington To those of the white race who look to the incoming of

those of foreign birth and strange tongue and habits of

the prosperity of the South, were I permitted I would

repeat what I say to my own race: “Cast down your bucket

where you are.” Cast it down among the eight millions of

Negroes whose habits you know, whose fidelity and love

you have tested in days when to have proved treacherous

meant the ruin of your firesides. Cast down your bucket

among these people who have, without strikes and labour

wars, tilled your fields, cleared your forests, builded your

railroads and cities, and brought forth treasures from the

bowels of the earth, and helped make possible this mag-

nificent representation of the progress of the South. Cast-

ing down your bucket among my people, helping and en-

couraging them as you are doing on these grounds, and

to education of head, hand, and heart, you will find that

they will buy your surplus land, make blossom the waste

places in your fields, and run your factories. While doing

this, you can be sure in the future, as in the past, that

you and your families will be surrounded by the most

patient, faithful, law-abiding, and unresentful people that

the world has seen. As we have proved our loyalty to you

in the past, nursing your children, watching by the sick-

bed of your mothers and fathers, and often following them

with tear-dimmed eyes to their graves, so in the future,

in our humble way, we shall stand by you with a devotion

that no foreigner can approach, ready to lay down our

lives, if need be, in defence of yours, interlacing our in-

dustrial, commercial, civil, and religious life with yours in

a way that shall make the interests of both races one. In

all things that are purely social we can be as separate as

the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to

mutual progress.

There is no defence or security for any of us except in

the highest intelligence and development of all. If any-

where there are efforts tending to curtail the fullest growth

of the Negro, let these efforts be turned into stimulating,

encouraging, and making him the most useful and intelli-

gent citizen. Effort or means so invested will pay a thou-

sand per cent interest. These efforts will be twice blessed—

”blessing him that gives and him that takes.”

There is no escape through law of man or God from the

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UP FROM SLAVERY

inevitable:—

The laws of changeless justice bind Oppressor with op-

pressed; And close as sin and suffering joined We march to

fate abreast.

Nearly sixteen millions of hands will aid you in pulling

the load upward, or they will pull against you the load

downward. We shall constitute one-third and more of the

ignorance and crime of the South, or one-third its intelli-

gence and progress; we shall contribute one-third to the

business and industrial prosperity of the South, or we

shall prove a veritable body of death, stagnating, depress-

ing, retarding every effort to advance the body politic.

Gentlemen of the Exposition, as we present to you our

humble effort at an exhibition of our progress, you must

not expect overmuch. Starting thirty years ago with own-

ership here and there in a few quilts and pumpkins and

chickens (gathered from miscellaneous sources), remem-

ber the path that has led from these to the inventions

and production of agricultural implements, buggies,

steam-engines, newspapers, books, statuary, carving,

paintings, the management of drug-stores and banks,

has not been trodden without contact with thorns and

thistles. While we take pride in what we exhibit as a

result of our independent efforts, we do not for a mo-

ment forget that our part in this exhibition would fall

far short of your expectations but for the constant help

that has come to our education life, not only from the

Southern states, but especially from Northern philan-

thropists, who have made their gifts a constant stream

of blessing and encouragement.

The wisest among my race understand that the agita-

tion of questions of social equality is the extremest folly,

and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges

that will come to us must be the result of severe and

constant struggle rather than of artificial forcing. No race

that has anything to contribute to the markets of the

world is long in any degree ostracized. It is important and

right that all privileges of the law be ours, but it is vastly

more important that we be prepared for the exercises of

these privileges. The opportunity to earn a dollar in a

factory just now is worth infinitely more than the oppor-

tunity to spend a dollar in an opera-house.

137

Booker T. Washington In conclusion, may I repeat that nothing in thirty years

has given us more hope and encouragement, and drawn

us so near to you of the white race, as this opportunity

offered by the Exposition; and here bending, as it were,

over the altar that represents the results of the struggles

of your race and mine, both starting practically empty-

handed three decades ago, I pledge that in your effort

to work out the great and intricate problem which God

has laid at the doors of the South, you shall have at all

times the patient, sympathetic help of my race; only let

this be constantly in mind, that, while from representa-

tions in these buildings of the product of field, of forest,

of mine, of factory, letters, and art, much good will

come, yet far above and beyond material benefits will be

that higher good, that, let us pray God, will come, in a

blotting out of sectional differences and racial animosi-

ties and suspicions, in a determination to administer

absolute justice, in a willing obedience among all classes

to the mandates of law. This, this, coupled with our

material prosperity, will bring into our beloved South a

new heaven and a new earth.

*************

The first thing that I remember, after I had finished

speaking, was that Governor Bullock rushed across the

platform and took me by the hand, and that others did

the same. I received so many and such hearty congratula-

tions that I found it difficult to get out of the building. I

did not appreciate to any degree, however, the impression

which my address seemed to have made, until the next

morning, when I went into the business part of the city.

As soon as I was recognized, I was surprised to find my-

self pointed out and surrounded by a crowd of men who

wished to shake hands with me. This was kept up on every

street on to which I went, to an extent which embar-

rassed me so much that I went back to my boarding-

place. The next morning I returned to Tuskegee. At the

station in Atlanta, and at almost all of the stations at

which the train stopped between that city and Tuskegee, I

found a crowd of people anxious to shake hands with me.

The papers in all parts of the United States published

the address in full, and for months afterward there were

complimentary editorial references to it. Mr. Clark Howell,

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UP FROM SLAVERY

the editor of the Atlanta Constitution, telegraphed to a

New York paper, among other words, the following, “I do

not exaggerate when I say that Professor Booker T.

Washington’s address yesterday was one of the most no-

table speeches, both as to character and as to the warmth

of its reception, ever delivered to a Southern audience.

The address was a revelation. The whole speech is a plat-

form upon which blacks and whites can stand with full

justice to each other.”

The Boston Transcript said editorially: “The speech of

Booker T. Washington at the Atlanta Exposition, this week,

seems to have dwarfed all the other proceedings and the

Exposition itself. The sensation that it has caused in the

press has never been equalled.”

I very soon began receiving all kinds of propositions

from lecture bureaus, and editors of magazines and pa-

pers, to take the lecture platform, and to write articles.

One lecture bureau offered me fifty thousand dollars, or

two hundred dollars a night and expenses, if I would place

my services at its disposal for a given period. To all these

communications I replied that my life-work was at

Tuskegee; and that whenever I spoke it must be in the

interests of Tuskegee school and my race, and that I would

enter into no arrangements that seemed to place a mere

commercial value upon my services.

Some days after its delivery I sent a copy of my address

to the President of the United States, the Hon. Grover

Cleveland. I received from him the following autograph

reply:—

Gray Gables, Buzzard’s Bay, Mass.,

October 6, 1895.

Booker T. Washington, Esq.:

My Dear Sir: I thank you for sending me a copy of your

address delivered at the Atlanta Exposition.

I thank you with much enthusiasm for making the ad-

dress. I have read it with intense interest, and I think the

Exposition would be fully justified if it did not do more

than furnish the opportunity for its delivery. Your words

cannot fail to delight and encourage all who wish well for

139

Booker T. Washington your race; and if our coloured fellow-citizens do not from

your utterances gather new hope and form new determi-

nations to gain every valuable advantage offered them by

their citizenship, it will be strange indeed.

Yours very truly,

Grover Cleveland.

Later I met Mr. Cleveland, for the first time, when, as

President, he visited the Atlanta Exposition. At the re-

quest of myself and others he consented to spend an hour

in the Negro Building, for the purpose of inspecting the

Negro exhibit and of giving the coloured people in atten-

dance an opportunity to shake hands with him. As soon

as I met Mr. Cleveland I became impressed with his sim-

plicity, greatness, and rugged honesty. I have met him

many times since then, both at public functions and at

his private residence in Princeton, and the more I see of

him the more I admire him. When he visited the Negro

Building in Atlanta he seemed to give himself up wholly,

for that hour, to the coloured people. He seemed to be as

careful to shake hands with some old coloured “auntie”

clad partially in rags, and to take as much pleasure in

doing so, as if he were greeting some millionaire. Many of

the coloured people took advantage of the occasion to

get him to write his name in a book or on a slip of paper.

He was as careful and patient in doing this as if he were

putting his signature to some great state document.

Mr. Cleveland has not only shown his friendship for me

in many personal ways, but has always consented to do

anything I have asked of him for our school. This he has

done, whether it was to make a personal donation or to

use his influence in securing the donations of others. Judg-

ing from my personal acquaintance with Mr. Cleveland, I

do not believe that he is conscious of possessing any colour

prejudice. He is too great for that. In my contact with

people I find that, as a rule, it is only the little, narrow

people who live for themselves, who never read good books,

who do not travel, who never open up their souls in a way

to permit them to come into contact with other souls—

with the great outside world. No man whose vision is

bounded by colour can come into contact with what is

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highest and best in the world. In meeting men, in many

places, I have found that the happiest people are those

who do the most for others; the most miserable are those

who do the least. I have also found that few things, if

any, are capable of making one so blind and narrow as race

prejudice. I often say to our students, in the course of my

talks to them on Sunday evenings in the chapel, that the

longer I live and the more experience I have of the world,

the more I am convinced that, after all, the one thing

that is most worth living for—and dying for, if need be—

is the opportunity of making some one else more happy

and more useful.

The coloured people and the coloured newspapers at

first seemed to be greatly pleased with the character of

my Atlanta address, as well as with its reception. But

after the first burst of enthusiasm began to die away, and

the coloured people began reading the speech in cold

type, some of them seemed to feel that they had been

hypnotized. They seemed to feel that I had been too lib-

eral in my remarks toward the Southern whites, and that I

had not spoken out strongly enough for what they termed

the “rights” of my race. For a while there was a reaction,

so far as a certain element of my own race was concerned,

but later these reactionary ones seemed to have been won

over to my way of believing and acting.

While speaking of changes in public sentiment, I recall

that about ten years after the school at Tuskegee was

established, I had an experience that I shall never forget.

Dr. Lyman Abbott, then the pastor of Plymouth Church,

and also editor of the Outlook (then the Christian Union),

asked me to write a letter for his paper giving my opinion

of the exact condition, mental and moral, of the coloured

ministers in the South, as based upon my observations. I

wrote the letter, giving the exact facts as I conceived

them to be. The picture painted was a rather black one—

or, since I am black, shall I say “white”? It could not be

otherwise with a race but a few years out of slavery, a race

which had not had time or opportunity to produce a com-

petent ministry.

What I said soon reached every Negro minister in the

country, I think, and the letters of condemnation which I

received from them were not few. I think that for a year

141

Booker T. Washington after the publication of this article every association and

every conference or religious body of any kind, of my race,

that met, did not fail before adjourning to pass a resolu-

tion condemning me, or calling upon me to retract or modify

what I had said. Many of these organizations went so far in

their resolutions as to advise parents to cease sending their

children to Tuskegee. One association even appointed a

“missionary” whose duty it was to warn the people against

sending their children to Tuskegee. This missionary had a

son in the school, and I noticed that, whatever the “mis-

sionary” might have said or done with regard to others, he

was careful not to take his son away from the institution.

Many of the coloured papers, especially those that were the

organs of religious bodies, joined in the general chorus of

condemnation or demands for retraction.

During the whole time of the excitement, and through all

the criticism, I did not utter a word of explanation of re-

traction. I knew that I was right, and that time and the

sober second thought of the people would vindicate me. It

was not long before the bishops and other church leaders

began to make careful investigation of the conditions of

the ministry, and they found out that I was right. In fact,

the oldest and most influential bishop in one branch of the

Methodist Church said that my words were far too mild.

Very soon public sentiment began making itself felt, in

demanding a purifying of the ministry. While this is not yet

complete by any means, I think I may say, without ego-

tism, and I have been told by many of our most influential

ministers, that my words had much to do with starting a

demand for the placing of a higher type of men in the

pulpit. I have had the satisfaction of having many who

once condemned me thank me heartily for my frank words.

The change of the attitude of the Negro ministry, so far

as regards myself, is so complete that at the present time

I have no warmer friends among any class than I have

among the clergymen. The improvement in the character

and life of the Negro ministers is one of the most gratify-

ing evidences of the progress of the race. My experience

with them, as well as other events in my life, convince me

that the thing to do, when one feels sure that he has said

or done the right thing, and is condemned, is to stand

still and keep quiet. If he is right, time will show it.

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UP FROM SLAVERY

In the midst of the discussion which was going on con-

cerning my Atlanta speech, I received the letter which I

give below, from Dr. Gilman, the President of Johns Hopkins

University, who had been made chairman of the judges of

award in connection with the Atlanta Exposition:—

Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore,

President’s Office, September 30, 1895.

Dear Mr. Washington: Would it be agreeable to you to be

one of the Judges of Award in the Department of Educa-

tion at Atlanta? If so, I shall be glad to place your name

upon the list. A line by telegraph will be welcomed.

Yours very truly,

D.C. Gilman

I think I was even more surprised to receive this invita-

tion than I had been to receive the invitation to speak at

the opening of the Exposition. It was to be a part of my

duty, as one of the jurors, to pass not only upon the

exhibits of the coloured schools, but also upon those of

the white schools. I accepted the position, and spent a

month in Atlanta in performance of the duties which it

entailed. The board of jurors was a large one, containing

in all of sixty members. It was about equally divided be-

tween Southern white people and Northern white people.

Among them were college presidents, leading scientists

and men of letters, and specialists in many subjects. When

the group of jurors to which I was assigned met for orga-

nization, Mr. Thomas Nelson Page, who was one of the

number, moved that I be made secretary of that division,

and the motion was unanimously adopted. Nearly half of

our division were Southern people. In performing my du-

ties in the inspection of the exhibits of white schools I

was in every case treated with respect, and at the close of

our labours I parted from my associates with regret.

I am often asked to express myself more freely than I do

upon the political condition and the political future of my

race. These recollections of my experience in Atlanta give

me the opportunity to do so briefly. My own belief is,

although I have never before said so in so many words,

143

Booker T. Washington that the time will come when the Negro in the South will

be accorded all the political rights which his ability, char-

acter, and material possessions entitle him to. I think,

though, that the opportunity to freely exercise such po-

litical rights will not come in any large degree through

outside or artificial forcing, but will be accorded to the

Negro by the Southern white people themselves, and that

they will protect him in the exercise of those rights. Just

as soon as the South gets over the old feeling that it is

being forced by “foreigners,” or “aliens,” to do something

which it does not want to do, I believe that the change in

the direction that I have indicated is going to begin. In

fact, there are indications that it is already beginning in a

slight degree.

Let me illustrate my meaning. Suppose that some months

before the opening of the Atlanta Exposition there had

been a general demand from the press and public platform

outside the South that a Negro be given a place on the

opening programme, and that a Negro be placed upon the

board of jurors of award. Would any such recognition of

the race have taken place? I do not think so. The Atlanta

officials went as far as they did because they felt it to be

a pleasure, as well as a duty, to reward what they consid-

ered merit in the Negro race. Say what we will, there is

something in human nature which we cannot blot out,

which makes one man, in the end, recognize and reward

merit in another, regardless of colour or race.

I believe it is the duty of the Negro—as the greater part

of the race is already doing—to deport himself modestly

in regard to political claims, depending upon the slow but

sure influences that proceed from the possession of prop-

erty, intelligence, and high character for the full recogni-

tion of his political rights. I think that the according of

the full exercise of political rights is going to be a matter

of natural, slow growth, not an over-night, gourd-vine

affair. I do not believe that the Negro should cease vot-

ing, for a man cannot learn the exercise of self-govern-

ment by ceasing to vote, any more than a boy can learn

to swim by keeping out of the water, but I do believe that

in his voting he should more and more be influenced by

those of intelligence and character who are his next-door

neighbours.

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I know coloured men who, through the encouragement,

help, and advice of Southern white people, have accumu-

lated thousands of dollars’ worth of property, but who, at

the same time, would never think of going to those same

persons for advice concerning the casting of their ballots.

This, it seems to me, is unwise and unreasonable, and

should cease. In saying this I do not mean that the Negro

should truckle, or not vote from principle, for the instant

he ceases to vote from principle he loses the confidence

and respect of the Southern white man even.

I do not believe that any state should make a law that

permits an ignorant and poverty-stricken white man to

vote, and prevents a black man in the same condition

from voting. Such a law is not only unjust, but it will

react, as all unjust laws do, in time; for the effect of such

a law is to encourage the Negro to secure education and

property, and at the same time it encourages the white

man to remain in ignorance and poverty. I believe that in

time, through the operation of intelligence and friendly

race relations, all cheating at the ballot-box in the South

will cease. It will become apparent that the white man

who begins by cheating a Negro out of his ballot soon

learns to cheat a white man out of his, and that the man

who does this ends his career of dishonesty by the theft

of property or by some equally serious crime. In my opin-

ion, the time will come when the South will encourage all

of its citizens to vote. It will see that it pays better, from

every standpoint, to have healthy, vigorous life than to

have that political stagnation which always results when

one-half of the population has no share and no interest in

the Government.

As a rule, I believe in universal, free suffrage, but I

believe that in the South we are confronted with peculiar

conditions that justify the protection of the ballot in many

of the states, for a while at least, either by an education

test, a property test, or by both combined; but whatever

tests are required, they should be made to apply with

equal and exact justice to both races.

145

Booker T. Washington Chapter XV. The Secret Of Success

In Public Speaking

A s to how my address at Atlanta was received by

the audience in the Exposition building, I think I

prefer to let Mr. James Creelman, the noted war

correspondent, tell. Mr. Creelman was present, and tele-

graphed the following account to the New York World:—

Atlanta, September 18.

While President Cleveland was waiting at Gray Gables to-

day, to send the electric spark that started the machinery

of the Atlanta Exposition, a Negro Moses stood before a

great audience of white people and delivered an oration

that marks a new epoch in the history of the South; and a

body of Negro troops marched in a procession with the

citizen soldiery of Georgia and Louisiana. The whole city

is thrilling to-night with a realization of the extraordinary

significance of these two unprecedented events. Nothing

has happened since Henry Grady’s immortal speech before

the New England society in New York that indicates so

profoundly the spirit of the New South, except, perhaps,

the opening of the Exposition itself.

When Professor Booker T. Washington, Principal of an

industrial school for coloured people in Tuskegee, Ala.

stood on the platform of the Auditorium, with the sun

shining over the heads of his auditors into his eyes, and

with his whole face lit up with the fire of prophecy, Clark

Howell, the successor of Henry Grady, said to me, “That

man’s speech is the beginning of a moral revolution in

America.”

It is the first time that a Negro has made a speech in

the South on any important occasion before an audience

composed of white men and women. It electrified the

audience, and the response was as if it had come from the

throat of a whirlwind.

Mrs. Thompson had hardly taken her seat when all eyes

were turned on a tall tawny Negro sitting in the front row

of the platform. It was Professor Booker T. Washington,

President of the Tuskegee (Alabama) Normal and Indus-

trial Institute, who must rank from this time forth as the

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foremost man of his race in America. Gilmore’s Band played

the “Star-Spangled Banner,” and the audience cheered.

The tune changed to “Dixie” and the audience roared with

shrill “hi-yis.” Again the music changed, this time to “Yan-

kee Doodle,” and the clamour lessened.

All this time the eyes of the thousands present looked

straight at the Negro orator. A strange thing was to hap-

pen. A black man was to speak for his people, with none

to interrupt him. As Professor Washington strode to the

edge of the stage, the low, descending sun shot fiery rays

through the windows into his face. A great shout greeted

him. He turned his head to avoid the blinding light, and

moved about the platform for relief. Then he turned his

wonderful countenance to the sun without a blink of the

eyelids, and began to talk.

There was a remarkable figure; tall, bony, straight as a

Sioux chief, high forehead, straight nose, heavy jaws, and

strong, determined mouth, with big white teeth, piercing

eyes, and a commanding manner. The sinews stood out on

his bronzed neck, and his muscular right arm swung high

in the air, with a lead-pencil grasped in the clinched brown

fist. His big feet were planted squarely, with the heels

together and the toes turned out. His voice range out

clear and true, and he paused impressively as he made

each point. Within ten minutes the multitude was in an

uproar of enthusiasm—handkerchiefs were waved, canes

were flourished, hats were tossed in the air. The fairest

women of Georgia stood up and cheered. It was as if the

orator had bewitched them.

And when he held his dusky hand high above his head,

with the fingers stretched wide apart, and said to the

white people of the South on behalf of his race, “In all

things that are purely social we can be as separate as the

fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential to

mutual progress,” the great wave of sound dashed itself

against the walls, and the whole audience was on its feet

in a delirium of applause, and I thought at that moment

of the night when Henry Grady stood among the curling

wreaths of tobacco-smoke in Delmonico’s banquet-hall and

said, “I am a Cavalier among Roundheads.”

I have heard the great orators of many countries, but

not even Gladstone himself could have pleased a cause

147

Booker T. Washington with most consummate power than did this angular Ne-

gro, standing in a nimbus of sunshine, surrounded by the

men who once fought to keep his race in bondage. The

roar might swell ever so high, but the expression of his

earnest face never changed.

A ragged, ebony giant, squatted on the floor in one of

the aisles, watched the orator with burning eyes and tremu-

lous face until the supreme burst of applause came, and

then the tears ran down his face. Most of the Negroes in the

audience were crying, perhaps without knowing just why.

At the close of the speech Governor Bullock rushed across

the stage and seized the orator’s hand. Another shout

greeted this demonstration, and for a few minutes the

two men stood facing each other, hand in hand.

So far as I could spare the time from the immediate

work at Tuskegee, after my Atlanta address, I accepted

some of the invitations to speak in public which came to

me, especially those that would take me into territory

where I thought it would pay to plead the cause of my

race, but I always did this with the understanding that I

was to be free to talk about my life-work and the needs of

my people. I also had it understood that I was not to

speak in the capacity of a professional lecturer, or for

mere commercial gain.

In my efforts on the public platform I never have been

able to understand why people come to hear me speak.

This question I never can rid myself of. Time and time

again, as I have stood in the street in front of a building

and have seen men and women passing in large numbers

into the audience room where I was to speak, I have felt

ashamed that I should be the cause of people—as it seemed

to me—wasting a valuable hour of their time. Some years

ago I was to deliver an address before a literary society in

Madison, Wis. An hour before the time set for me to speak,

a fierce snow-storm began, and continued for several hours.

I made up my mind that there would be no audience, and

that I should not have to speak, but, as a matter of duty,

I went to the church, and found it packed with people.

The surprise gave me a shock that I did not recover from

during the whole evening.

People often ask me if I feel nervous before speaking, or

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else they suggest that, since I speak often, they suppose

that I get used to it. In answer to this question I have to

say that I always suffer intensely from nervousness before

speaking. More than once, just before I was to make an

important address, this nervous strain has been so great

that I have resolved never again to speak in public. I not

only feel nervous before speaking, but after I have fin-

ished I usually feel a sense of regret, because it seems to

me as if I had left out of my address the main thing and

the best thing that I had meant to say.

There is a great compensation, though, for this prelimi-

nary nervous suffering, that comes to me after I have

been speaking for about ten minutes, and have come to

feel that I have really mastered my audience, and that we

have gotten into full and complete sympathy with each

other. It seems to me that there is rarely such a combina-

tion of mental and physical delight in any effort as that

which comes to a public speaker when he feels that he has

a great audience completely within his control. There is a

thread of sympathy and oneness that connects a public

speaker with his audience, that is just as strong as though

it was something tangible and visible. If in an audience of

a thousand people there is one person who is not in sym-

pathy with my views, or is inclined to be doubtful, cold,

or critical, I can pick him out. When I have found him I

usually go straight at him, and it is a great satisfaction to

watch the process of his thawing out. I find that the

most effective medicine for such individuals is adminis-

tered at first in the form of a story, although I never tell

an anecdote simply for the sake of telling one. That kind

of thing, I think, is empty and hollow, and an audience

soon finds it out.

I believe that one always does himself and his audience

an injustice when he speaks merely for the sake of speak-

ing. I do not believe that one should speak unless, deep

down in his heart, he feels convinced that he has a mes-

sage to deliver. When one feels, from the bottom of his

feet to the top of his head, that he has something to say

that is going to help some individual or some cause, then

let him say it; and in delivering his message I do not

believe that many of the artificial rules of elocution can,

under such circumstances, help him very much. Although

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Booker T. Washington there are certain things, such as pauses, breathing, and

pitch of voice, that are very important, none of these can

take the place of soul in an address. When I have an ad-

dress to deliver, I like to forget all about the rules for the

proper use of the English language, and all about rhetoric

and that sort of thing, and I like to make the audience

forget all about these things, too.

Nothing tends to throw me off my balance so quickly,

when I am speaking, as to have some one leave the room.

To prevent this, I make up my mind, as a rule, that I will try

to make my address so interesting, will try to state so many

interesting facts one after another, that no one can leave.

The average audience, I have come to believe, wants facts

rather than generalities or sermonizing. Most people, I think,

are able to draw proper conclusions if they are given the

facts in an interesting form on which to base them.

As to the kind of audience that I like best to talk to, I

would put at the top of the list an organization of strong,

wide-awake, business men, such, for example, as is found

in Boston, New York, Chicago, and Buffalo. I have found

no other audience so quick to see a point, and so respon-

sive. Within the last few years I have had the privilege of

speaking before most of the leading organizations of this

kind in the large cities of the United States. The best time

to get hold of an organization of business men is after a

good dinner, although I think that one of the worst in-

struments of torture that was ever invented is the custom

which makes it necessary for a speaker to sit through a

fourteen-course dinner, every minute of the time feeling

sure that his speech is going to prove a dismal failure and

disappointment.

I rarely take part in one of these long dinners that I do

not wish that I could put myself back in the little cabin

where I was a slave boy, and again go through the experi-

ence there—one that I shall never forget—of getting

molasses to eat once a week from the “big house.” Our

usual diet on the plantation was corn bread and pork, but

on Sunday morning my mother was permitted to bring

down a little molasses from the “big house” for her three

children, and when it was received how I did wish that

every day was Sunday! I would get my tin plate and hold

it up for the sweet morsel, but I would always shut my

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eyes while the molasses was being poured out into the

plate, with the hope that when I opened them I would be

surprised to see how much I had got. When I opened my

eyes I would tip the plate in one direction and another, so

as to make the molasses spread all over it, in the full

belief that there would be more of it and that it would

last longer if spread out in this way. So strong are my

childish impressions of those Sunday morning feasts that

it would be pretty hard for any one to convince me that

there is not more molasses on a plate when it is spread all

over the plate than when it occupies a little corner—if

there is a corner in a plate. At any rate, I have never

believed in “cornering” syrup. My share of the syrup was

usually about two tablespoonfuls, and those two spoon-

fuls of molasses were much more enjoyable to me than is

a fourteen-course dinner after which I am to speak.

Next to a company of business men, I prefer to speak to

an audience of Southern people, of either race, together

or taken separately. Their enthusiasm and responsiveness

are a constant delight. The “amens” and “dat’s de truf”

that come spontaneously from the coloured individuals

are calculated to spur any speaker on to his best efforts.

I think that next in order of preference I would place a

college audience. It has been my privilege to deliver ad-

dresses at many of our leading colleges including Harvard,

Yale, Williams, Amherst, Fisk University, the University of

Pennsylvania, Wellesley, the University of Michigan, Trin-

ity College in North Carolina, and many others.

It has been a matter of deep interest to me to note the

number of people who have come to shake hands with me

after an address, who say that this is the first time they

have ever called a Negro “Mister.”

When speaking directly in the interests of the Tuskegee

Institute, I usually arrange, some time in advance, a se-

ries of meetings in important centres. This takes me be-

fore churches, Sunday-schools, Christian Endeavour Soci-

eties, and men’s and women’s clubs. When doing this I

sometimes speak before as many as four organizations in

a single day.

Three years ago, at the suggestion of Mr. Morris K. Jessup,

of New York, and Dr. J.L.M. Curry, the general agent of the

fund, the trustees of the John F. Slater Fund voted a sum

151

Booker T. Washington of money to be used in paying the expenses of Mrs. Wash-

ington and myself while holding a series of meetings among

the coloured people in the large centres of Negro popula-

tion, especially in the large cities of the ex-slaveholding

states. Each year during the last three years we have de-

voted some weeks to this work. The plan that we have

followed has been for me to speak in the morning to the

ministers, teachers, and professional men. In the after-

noon Mrs. Washington would speak to the women alone,

and in the evening I spoke to a large mass-meeting. In

almost every case the meetings have been attended not

only by the coloured people in large numbers, but by the

white people. In Chattanooga, Tenn., for example, there

was present at the mass-meeting an audience of not less

than three thousand persons, and I was informed that

eight hundred of these were white. I have done no work

that I really enjoyed more than this, or that I think has

accomplished more good.

These meetings have given Mrs. Washington and myself

an opportunity to get first-hand, accurate information as

to the real condition of the race, by seeing the people in

their homes, their churches, their Sunday-schools, and

their places of work, as well as in the prisons and dens of

crime. These meetings also gave us an opportunity to see

the relations that exist between the races. I never feel so

hopeful about the race as I do after being engaged in a

series of these meetings. I know that on such occasions

there is much that comes to the surface that is superficial

and deceptive, but I have had experience enough not to

be deceived by mere signs and fleeting enthusiasms. I

have taken pains to go to the bottom of things and get

facts, in a cold, business-like manner.

I have seen the statement made lately, by one who claims

to know what he is talking about, that, taking the whole

Negro race into account, ninety per cent of the Negro

women are not virtuous. There never was a baser false-

hood uttered concerning a race, or a statement made that

was less capable of being proved by actual facts.

No one can come into contact with the race for twenty

years, as I have done in the heart of the South, without

being convinced that the race is constantly making slow

but sure progress materially, educationally, and morally.

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One might take up the life of the worst element in New

York City, for example, and prove almost anything he wanted

to prove concerning the white man, but all will agree that

this is not a fair test.

Early in the year 1897 I received a letter inviting me to

deliver an address at the dedication of the Robert Gould

Shaw monument in Boston. I accepted the invitation. It is

not necessary for me, I am sure, to explain who Robert

Gould Shaw was, and what he did. The monument to his

memory stands near the head of the Boston Common, fac-

ing the State House. It is counted to be the most perfect

piece of art of the kind to be found in the country.

The exercises connected with the dedication were held

in Music Hall, in Boston, and the great hall was packed

from top to bottom with one of the most distinguished

audiences that ever assembled in the city. Among those

present were more persons representing the famous old

anti-slavery element that it is likely will ever be brought

together in the country again. The late Hon. Roger Wolcott,

then Governor of Massachusetts, was the presiding of-

ficer, and on the platform with him were many other offi-

cials and hundreds of distinguished men. A report of the

meeting which appeared in the Boston Transcript will de-

scribe it better than any words of mine could do:—

The core and kernel of yesterday’s great noon meeting,

in honour of the Brotherhood of Man, in Music Hall, was

the superb address of the Negro President of Tuskegee.

“Booker T. Washington received his Harvard A.M. last June,

the first of his race,” said Governor Wolcott, “to receive

an honorary degree from the oldest university in the land,

and this for the wise leadership of his people.” When Mr.

Washington rose in the flag-filled, enthusiasm-warmed,

patriotic, and glowing atmosphere of Music Hall, people

felt keenly that here was the civic justification of the old

abolition spirit of Massachusetts; in his person the proof

of her ancient and indomitable faith; in his strong through

and rich oratory, the crown and glory of the old war days

of suffering and strife. The scene was full of historic beauty

and deep significance. “Cold” Boston was alive with the

fire that is always hot in her heart for righteousness and

truth. Rows and rows of people who are seldom seen at

any public function, whole families of those who are cer-

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Booker T. Washington tain to be out of town on a holiday, crowded the place to

overflowing. The city was at her birthright fete in the

persons of hundreds of her best citizens, men and women

whose names and lives stand for the virtues that make for

honourable civic pride.

Battle-music had filled the air. Ovation after ovation,

applause warm and prolonged, had greeted the officers

and friends of Colonel Shaw, the sculptor, St. Gaudens,

the memorial Committee, the Governor and his staff, and

the Negro soldiers of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts as

they came upon the platform or entered the hall. Colonel

Henry Lee, of Governor Andrew’s old staff, had made a

noble, simple presentation speech for the committee,

paying tribute to Mr. John M. Forbes, in whose stead he

served. Governor Wolcott had made his short, memorable

speech, saying, “Fort Wagner marked an epoch in the his-

tory of a race, and called it into manhood.” Mayor Quincy

had received the monument for the city of Boston. The

story of Colonel Shaw and his black regiment had been

told in gallant words, and then, after the singing of

Mine eyes have seen the glory Of the coming of the Lord,

Booker Washington arose. It was, of course, just the mo-

ment for him. The multitude, shaken out of its usual sym-

phony-concert calm, quivered with an excitement that

was not suppressed. A dozen times it had sprung to its

feet to cheer and wave and hurrah, as one person. When

this man of culture and voice and power, as well as a dark

skin, began, and uttered the names of Stearns and of

Andrew, feeling began to mount. You could see tears glis-

ten in the eyes of soldiers and civilians. When the orator

turned to the coloured soldiers on the platform, to the

colour-bearer of Fort Wagner, who smilingly bore still the

flag he had never lowered even when wounded, and said,

“To you, to the scarred and scattered remnants of the

Fifty-fourth, who, with empty sleeve and wanting leg,

have honoured this occasion with your presence, to you,

your commander is not dead. Though Boston erected no

monument and history recorded no story, in you and in

the loyal race which you represent, Robert Gould Shaw

would have a monument which time could not wear away,”

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then came the climax of the emotion of the day and the

hour. It was Roger Wolcott, as well as the Governor of

Massachusetts, the individual representative of the people’s

sympathy as well as the chief magistrate, who had sprung

first to his feet and cried, “Three cheers to Booker T.

Washington!”

Among those on the platform was Sergeant William H.

Carney, of New Bedford, Mass., the brave coloured officer

who was the colour-bearer at Fort Wagner and held the

American flag. In spite of the fact that a large part of his

regiment was killed, he escape, and exclaimed, after the

battle was over, “The old flag never touched the ground.”

This flag Sergeant Carney held in his hands as he sat on

the platform, and when I turned to address the survivors

of the coloured regiment who were present, and referred

to Sergeant Carney, he rose, as if by instinct, and raised

the flag. It has been my privilege to witness a good many

satisfactory and rather sensational demonstrations in con-

nection with some of my public addresses, but in dra-

matic effect I have never seen or experienced anything

which equalled this. For a number of minutes the audi-

ence seemed to entirely lose control of itself.

In the general rejoicing throughout the country which

followed the close of the Spanish-American war, peace

celebrations were arranged in several of the large cities. I

was asked by President William R. Harper, of the Univer-

sity of Chicago, who was chairman of the committee of

invitations for the celebration to be held in the city of

Chicago, to deliver one of the addresses at the celebration

there. I accepted the invitation, and delivered two ad-

dresses there during the Jubilee week. The first of these,

and the principal one, was given in the Auditorium, on

the evening of Sunday, October 16. This was the largest

audience that I have ever addressed, in any part of the

country; and besides speaking in the main Auditorium, I

also addressed, that same evening, two overflow audi-

ences in other parts of the city.

It was said that there were sixteen thousand persons in

the Auditorium, and it seemed to me as if there were as

many more on the outside trying to get in. It was impos-

sible for any one to get near the entrance without the aid

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Booker T. Washington of a policeman. President William McKinley attended this

meeting, as did also the members of his Cabinet, many

foreign ministers, and a large number of army and navy

officers, many of whom had distinguished themselves in

the war which had just closed. The speakers, besides my-

self, on Sunday evening, were Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, Fa-

ther Thomas P. Hodnett, and Dr. John H. Barrows.

The Chicago Times-Herald, in describing the meeting,

said of my address:—

He pictured the Negro choosing slavery rather than ex-

tinction; recalled Crispus Attucks shedding his blood at

the beginning of the American Revolution, that white

Americans might be free, while black Americans remained

in slavery; rehearsed the conduct of the Negroes with Jack-

son at New Orleans; drew a vivid and pathetic picture of

the Southern slaves protecting and supporting the fami-

lies of their masters while the latter were fighting to per-

petuate black slavery; recounted the bravery of coloured

troops at Port Hudson and Forts Wagner and Pillow, and

praised the heroism of the black regiments that stormed

El Caney and Santiago to give freedom to the enslaved

people of Cuba, forgetting, for the time being, the unjust

discrimination that law and custom make against them in

their own country.

In all of these things, the speaker declared, his race had

chosen the better part. And then he made his eloquent

appeal to the consciences of the white Americans: “When

you have gotten the full story or the heroic conduct of

the Negro in the Spanish-American war, have heard it from

the lips of Northern soldier and Southern soldier, from ex-

abolitionist and ex-masters, then decide within yourselves

whether a race that is thus willing to die for its country

should not be given the highest opportunity to live for its

country.”

The part of the speech which seems to arouse the wild-

est and most sensational enthusiasm was that in which I

thanked the President for his recognition of the Negro in

his appointments during the Spanish-American war. The

President was sitting in a box at the right of the stage.

When I addressed him I turned toward the box, and as I

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finished the sentence thanking him for his generosity, the

whole audience rose and cheered again and again, waving

handkerchiefs and hats and canes, until the President arose

in the box and bowed his acknowledgements. At that the

enthusiasm broke out again, and the demonstration was

almost indescribable.

One portion of my address at Chicago seemed to have

been misunderstood by the Southern press, and some of

the Southern papers took occasion to criticise me rather

strongly. These criticisms continued for several weeks, until

I finally received a letter from the editor of the Age-Herald,

published in Birmingham, Ala., asking me if I would say

just what I meant by this part of the address. I replied to

him in a letter which seemed to satisfy my critics. In this

letter I said that I had made it a rule never to say before a

Northern audience anything that I would not say before an

audience in the South. I said that I did not think it was

necessary for me to go into extended explanations; if my

seventeen years of work in the heart of the South had not

been explanation enough, I did not see how words could

explain. I said that I made the same plea that I had made

in my address at Atlanta, for the blotting out of race preju-

dice in “commercial and civil relations.” I said that what is

termed social recognition was a question which I never

discussed, and then I quoted from my Atlanta address what

I had said there in regard to that subject.

In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there

is one type of individual that I dread. I mean the crank. I

have become so accustomed to these people now that I

can pick them out at a distance when I see them elbow-

ing their way up to me. The average crank has a long

beard, poorly cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a

black coat. The front of his vest and coat are slick with

grease, and his trousers bag at the knees.

In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one

of these fellows. They usually have some process for cur-

ing all of the ills of the world at once. This Chicago speci-

men had a patent process by which he said Indian corn

could be kept through a period of three or four years, and

he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as

a whole, adopt his process, it would settle the whole race

question. It mattered nothing that I tried to convince

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Booker T. Washington him that our present problem was to teach the Negroes

how to produce enough corn to last them through one

year. Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he

wanted me to join him in an effort to close up all the

National banks in the country. If that was done, he felt

sure it would put the Negro on his feet.

The number of people who stand ready to consume one’s

time, to no purpose, is almost countless. At one time I

spoke before a large audience in Boston in the evening.

The next morning I was awakened by having a card brought

to my room, and with it a message that some one was

anxious to see me. Thinking that it must be something

very important, I dressed hastily and went down. When I

reached the hotel office I found a blank and innocent-

looking individual waiting for me, who coolly remarked:

“I heard you talk at a meeting last night. I rather liked

your talk, and so I came in this morning to hear you talk

some more.”

I am often asked how it is possible for me to superin-

tend the work at Tuskegee and at the same time be so

much away from the school. In partial answer to this I

would say that I think I have learned, in some degree at

least, to disregard the old maxim which says, “Do not get

others to do that which you can do yourself.” My motto,

on the other hand, is, “Do not do that which others can

do as well.”

One of the most encouraging signs in connection with

the Tuskegee school is found in the fact that the organiza-

tion is so thorough that the daily work of the school is not

dependent upon the presence of any one individual. The

whole executive force, including instructors and clerks, now

numbers eighty-six. This force is so organized and subdi-

vided that the machinery of the school goes on day by day

like clockwork. Most of our teachers have been connected

with the institutions for a number of years, and are as

much interested in it as I am. In my absence, Mr. Warren

Logan, the treasurer, who has been at the school seventeen

years, is the executive. He is efficiently supported by Mrs.

Washington, and by my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J.

Scott, who handles the bulk of my correspondence and

keeps me in daily touch with the life of the school, and who

also keeps me informed of whatever takes place in the

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South that concerns the race. I owe more to his tact,

wisdom, and hard work than I can describe.

The main executive work of the school, whether I am at

Tuskegee or not, centres in what we call the executive coun-

cil. This council meets twice a week, and is composed of

the nine persons who are at the head of the nine depart-

ments of the school. For example: Mrs. B.K. Bruce, the

Lady Principal, the widow of the late ex-senator Bruce, is a

member of the council, and represents in it all that per-

tains to the life of the girls at the school. In addition to

the executive council there is a financial committee of six,

that meets every week and decides upon the expenditures

for the week. Once a month, and sometimes oftener, there

is a general meeting of all the instructors. Aside from these

there are innumerable smaller meetings, such as that of the

instructors in the Phelps Hall Bible Training School, or of

the instructors in the agricultural department.

In order that I may keep in constant touch with the life

of the institution, I have a system of reports so arranged

that a record of the school’s work reaches me every day of

the year, no matter in what part of the country I am. I

know by these reports even what students are excused

from school, and why they are excused—whether for rea-

sons of ill health or otherwise. Through the medium of

these reports I know each day what the income of the

school in money is; I know how many gallons of milk and

how many pounds of butter come from the diary; what

the bill of fare for the teachers and students is; whether a

certain kind of meat was boiled or baked, and whether

certain vegetables served in the dining room were bought

from a store or procured from our own farm. Human na-

ture I find to be very much the same the world over, and

it is sometimes not hard to yield to the temptation to go

to a barrel of rice that has come from the store—with the

grain all prepared to go in the pot—rather than to take

the time and trouble to go to the field and dig and wash

one’s own sweet potatoes, which might be prepared in a

manner to take the place of the rice.

I am often asked how, in the midst of so much work, a

large part of which is for the public, I can find time for

any rest or recreation, and what kind of recreation or sports

I am fond of. This is rather a difficult question to answer.

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Booker T. Washington I have a strong feeling that every individual owes it to

himself, and to the cause which he is serving, to keep a

vigorous, healthy body, with the nerves steady and strong,

prepared for great efforts and prepared for disappoint-

ments and trying positions. As far as I can, I make it a

rule to plan for each day’s work—not merely to go through

with the same routine of daily duties, but to get rid of the

routine work as early in the day as possible, and then to

enter upon some new or advance work. I make it a rule to

clear my desk every day, before leaving my office, of all

correspondence and memoranda, so that on the morrow I

can begin a NEW day of work. I make it a rule never to let

my work drive me, but to so master it, and keep it in such

complete control, and to keep so far ahead of it, that I

will be the master instead of the servant. There is a physi-

cal and mental and spiritual enjoyment that comes from a

consciousness of being the absolute master of one’s work,

in all its details, that is very satisfactory and inspiring. My

experience teachers me that, if one learns to follow this

plan, he gets a freshness of body and vigour of mind out

of work that goes a long way toward keeping him strong

and healthy. I believe that when one can grow to the

point where he loves his work, this gives him a kind of

strength that is most valuable.

When I begin my work in the morning, I expect to have

a successful and pleasant day of it, but at the same time

I prepare myself for unpleasant and unexpected hard places.

I prepared myself to hear that one of our school buildings

is on fire, or has burned, or that some disagreeable acci-

dent has occurred, or that some one has abused me in a

public address or printed article, for something that I

have done or omitted to do, or for something that he had

heard that I had said—probably something that I had

never thought of saying.

In nineteen years of continuous work I have taken but

one vacation. That was two years ago, when some of my

friends put the money into my hands and forced Mrs.

Washington and myself to spend three months in Europe.

I have said that I believe it is the duty of every one to

keep his body in good condition. I try to look after the

little ills, with the idea that if I take care of the little ills

the big ones will not come. When I find myself unable to

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sleep well, I know that something is wrong. If I find any

part of my system the least weak, and not performing its

duty, I consult a good physician. The ability to sleep well,

at any time and in any place, I find of great advantage. I

have so trained myself that I can lie down for a nap of

fifteen or twenty minutes, and get up refreshed in body

and mind.

I have said that I make it a rule to finish up each day’s

work before leaving it. There is, perhaps, one exception to

this. When I have an unusually difficult question to de-

cide—one that appeals strongly to the emotions—I find

it a safe rule to sleep over it for a night, or to wait until

I have had an opportunity to talk it over with my wife

and friends.

As to my reading; the most time I get for solid reading

is when I am on the cars. Newspapers are to me a con-

stant source of delight and recreation. The only trouble is

that I read too many of them. Fiction I care little for.

Frequently I have to almost force myself to read a novel

that is on every one’s lips. The kind of reading that I have

the greatest fondness for is biography. I like to be sure

that I am reading about a real man or a real thing. I think

I do not go too far when I say that I have read nearly

every book and magazine article that has been written

about Abraham Lincoln. In literature he is my patron saint.

Out of the twelve months in a year I suppose that, on

an average, I spend six months away from Tuskegee. While

my being absent from the school so much unquestionably

has its disadvantages, yet there are at the same time some

compensations. The change of work brings a certain kind

of rest. I enjoy a ride of a long distance on the cars, when

I am permitted to ride where I can be comfortable. I get

rest on the cars, except when the inevitable individual

who seems to be on every train approaches me with the

now familiar phrase: “Isn’t this Booker Washington? I want

to introduce myself to you.” Absence from the school

enables me to lose sight of the unimportant details of the

work, and study it in a broader and more comprehensive

manner than I could do on the grounds. This absence also

brings me into contact with the best work being done in

educational lines, and into contact with the best educa-

tors in the land.

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Booker T. Washington But, after all this is said, the time when I get the most

solid rest and recreation is when I can be at Tuskegee,

and, after our evening meal is over, can sit down, as is our

custom, with my wife and Portia and Baker and Davidson,

my three children, and read a story, or each take turns in

telling a story. To me there is nothing on earth equal to

that, although what is nearly equal to it is to go with

them for an hour or more, as we like to do on Sunday

afternoons, into the woods, where we can live for a while

near the heart of nature, where no one can disturb or vex

us, surrounded by pure air, the trees, the shrubbery, the

flowers, and the sweet fragrance that springs from a hun-

dred plants, enjoying the chirp of the crickets and the

songs of the birds. This is solid rest.

My garden, also, what little time I can be at Tuskegee,

is another source of rest and enjoyment. Somehow I like,

as often as possible, to touch nature, not something that

is artificial or an imitation, but the real thing. When I can

leave my office in time so that I can spend thirty or forty

minutes in spading the ground, in planting seeds, in dig-

ging about the plants, I feel that I am coming into con-

tact with something that is giving me strength for the

many duties and hard places that await me out in the big

world. I pity the man or woman who has never learned to

enjoy nature and to get strength and inspiration out of it.

Aside from the large number of fowls and animals kept

by the school, I keep individually a number of pigs and

fowls of the best grades, and in raising these I take a

great deal of pleasure. I think the pig is my favourite

animal. Few things are more satisfactory to me than a

high-grade Berkshire or Poland China pig.

Games I care little for. I have never seen a game of

football. In cards I do not know one card from another. A

game of old-fashioned marbles with my two boys, once in

a while, is all I care for in this direction. I suppose I

would care for games now if I had had any time in my

youth to give to them, but that was not possible.

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Chapter XVI. Europe

I n 1893 I was married to Miss Margaret James Murray,

a native of Mississippi, and a graduate of Fisk Univer

sity, in Nashville, Tenn., who had come to Tuskegee

as a teacher several years before, and at the time we were

married was filling the position of Lady Principal. Not only

is Mrs. Washington completely one with me in the work

directly connected with the school, relieving me of many

burdens and perplexities, but aside from her work on the

school grounds, she carries on a mothers’ meeting in the

town of Tuskegee, and a plantation work among the women,

children, and men who live in a settlement connected

with a large plantation about eight miles from Tuskegee.

Both the mothers’ meeting and the plantation work are

carried on, not only with a view to helping those who are

directly reached, but also for the purpose of furnishing

object-lessons in these two kinds of work that may be

followed by our students when they go out into the world

for their own life-work.

Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also

largely responsible for a woman’s club at the school which

brings together, twice a month, the women who live on the

school grounds and those who live near, for the discussion

of some important topic. She is also the President of what

is known as the Federation of Southern Coloured Women’s

Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the

National Federation of Coloured Women’s Clubs.

Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned dress-

making. She has unusual ability in instrumental music.

Aside from her studies at Tuskegee, she has already begun

to teach there.

Booker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is,

he has already nearly mastered the brickmason’s trade. He

began working at this trade when he was quite small,

dividing his time between this and class work; and he has

developed great skill in the trade and a fondness for it. He

says that he is going to be an architect and brickmason.

One of the most satisfactory letters that I have ever re-

ceived from any one came to me from Booker last sum-

mer. When I left home for the summer, I told him that he

must work at his trade half of each day, and that the

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Booker T. Washington other half of the day he could spend as he pleased. When

I had been away from home two weeks, I received the

following letter from him:

Tuskegee, Alabama.

My dear Papa: Before you left home you told me to work

at my trade half of each day. I like my work so much that

I want to work at my trade all day. Besides, I want to earn

all the money I can, so that when I go to another school

I shall have money to pay my expenses.

Your son,

Booker.

My youngest child, Earnest Davidson Washington, says

that he is going to be a physician. In addition to going to

school, where he studies books and has manual training,

he regularly spends a portion of his time in the office of

our resident physician, and has already learned to do many

of the studies which pertain to a doctor’s office.

The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret

is that my work in connection with public affairs keeps

me for so much of the time away from my family, where,

of all places in the world, I delight to be. I always envy

the individual whose life-work is so laid that he can spend

his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that

people who have this rare privilege do not appreciate it as

they should. It is such a rest and relief to get away from

crowds of people, and handshaking, and travelling, to get

home, even if it be for but a very brief while.

Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great

deal of pleasure and satisfaction is in the meeting with

our students, and teachers, and their families, in the chapel

for devotional exercises every evening at half-past eight,

the last thing before retiring for the night. It is an inspir-

ing sight when one stands on the platform there and sees

before him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men

and women; and one cannot but feel that it is a privilege

to help to guide them to a higher and more useful life.

In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might

describe as almost the greatest surprise of my life. Some

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good ladies in Boston arranged a public meeting in the

interests of Tuskegee, to be held in the Hollis Street The-

atre. This meeting was attended by large numbers of the

best people of Boston, of both races. Bishop Lawrence

presided. In addition to an address made by myself, Mr.

Paul Lawrence Dunbar read from his poems, and Dr. W.E.B.

Du Bois read an original sketch.

Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I

seemed unusually tired, and some little time after the close

of the meeting, one of the ladies who had been interested

in it asked me in a casual way if I had ever been to Europe.

I replied that I never had. She asked me if I had ever

thought of going, and I told her no; that it was something

entirely beyond me. This conversation soon passed out of

my mind, but a few days afterward I was informed that

some friends in Boston, including Mr. Francis J. Garrison,

had raised a sum of money sufficient to pay all the ex-

penses of Mrs. Washington and myself during a three or

four months’ trip to Europe. It was added with emphasis

that we MUST go. A year previous to this Mr. Garrison had

attempted to get me to promise to go to Europe for a

summer’s rest, with the understanding that he would be

responsible for raising the money among his friends for the

expenses of the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so

entirely foreign to anything that I should ever be able to

undertake that I did confess I did not give the matter very

serious attention; but later Mr. Garrison joined his efforts

to those of the ladies whom I have mentioned, and when

their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison not only

had the route mapped out, but had, I believe, selected the

steamer upon which we were to sail.

The whole thing was so sudden and so unexpected that

I was completely taken off my feet. I had been at work

steadily for eighteen years in connection with Tuskegee,

and I had never thought of anything else but ending my

life in that way. Each day the school seemed to depend

upon me more largely for its daily expenses, and I told

these Boston friends that, while I thanked them sincerely

for their thoughtfulness and generosity, I could not go to

Europe, for the reason that the school could not live fi-

nancially while I was absent. They then informed me that

Mr. Henry L. Higginson, and some other good friends who

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Booker T. Washington I know do not want their names made public, were then

raising a sum of money which would be sufficient to keep

the school in operation while I was away. At this point I

was compelled to surrender. Every avenue of escape had

been closed.

Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more

like a dream than like reality, and for a long time it was

difficult for me to make myself believe that I was actually

going to Europe. I had been born and largely reared in the

lowest depths of slavery, ignorance, and poverty. In my

childhood I had suffered for want of a place to sleep, for

lack of food, clothing, and shelter. I had not had the

privilege of sitting down to a dining-table until I was

quite well grown. Luxuries had always seemed to me to be

something meant for white people, not for my race. I had

always regarded Europe, and London, and Paris, much as I

regarded heaven. And now could it be that I was actually

going to Europe? Such thoughts as these were constantly

with me.

Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared

that people who heard that Mrs. Washington and I were

going to Europe might not know all the circumstances,

and might get the idea that we had become, as some

might say, “stuck up,” and were trying to “show off.” I

recalled that from my youth I had heard it said that too

often, when people of my race reached any degree of suc-

cess, they were inclined to unduly exalt themselves; to try

and ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose their heads.

The fear that people might think this of us haunted me a

good deal. Then, too, I could not see how my conscience

would permit me to spare the time from my work and be

happy. It seemed mean and selfish in me to be taking a

vacation while others were at work, and while there was

so much that needed to be done. From the time I could

remember, I had always been at work, and I did not see

how I could spend three or four months in doing nothing.

The fact was that I did not know how to take a vacation.

Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty in get-

ting away, but she was anxious to go because she thought

that I needed the rest. There were many important Na-

tional questions bearing upon the life of the race which

were being agitated at that time, and this made it all the

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harder for us to decide to go. We finally gave our Boston

friends our promise that we would go, and then they in-

sisted that the date of our departure be set as soon as

possible. So we decided upon May 10. My good friend Mr.

Garrison kindly took charge of all the details necessary for

the success of the trip, and he, as well as other friends,

gave us a great number of letters of introduction to people

in France and England, and made other arrangements for

our comfort and convenience abroad. Good-bys were said

at Tuskegee, and we were in New York May 9, ready to sail

the next day. Our daughter Portia, who was then studying

in South Framingham, Mass., came to New York to see us

off. Mr. Scott, my secretary, came with me to New York,

in order that I might clear up the last bit of business

before I left. Other friends also came to New York to see

us off. Just before we went on board the steamer another

pleasant surprise came to us in the form of a letter from

two generous ladies, stating that they had decided to

give us the money with which to erect a new building to

be used in properly housing all our industries for girls at

Tuskegee.

We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line,

and a beautiful vessel she was. We went on board just

before noon, the hour of sailing. I had never before been

on board a large ocean steamer, and the feeling which

took possession of me when I found myself there is rather

hard to describe. It was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled

with delight. We were agreeably surprised to find that the

captain, as well as several of the other officers, not only

knew who we were, but was expecting us and gave us a

pleasant greeting. There were several passengers whom we

knew, including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey, and Edward

Marshall, the newspaper correspondent. I had just a little

fear that we would not be treated civilly by some of the

passengers. This fear was based upon what I had heard

other people of my race, who had crossed the ocean, say

about unpleasant experiences in crossing the ocean in

American vessels. But in our case, from the captain down

to the most humble servant, we were treated with the

greatest kindness. Nor was this kindness confined to those

who were connected with the steamer; it was shown by all

the passengers also. There were not a few Southern men

167

Booker T. Washington and women on board, and they were as cordial as those

from other parts of the country.

As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer

had cut loose from the wharf, the load of care, anxiety,

and responsibility which I had carried for eighteen years

began to lift itself from my shoulders at the rate, it seemed

to me, of a pound a minute. It was the first time in all

those years that I had felt, even in a measure, free from

care; and my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on

paper. Added to this was the delightful anticipation of

being in Europe soon. It all seemed more like a dream

than like a reality.

Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have

one of the most comfortable rooms on the ship. The sec-

ond or third day out I began to sleep, and I think that I

slept at the rate of fifteen hours a day during the remainder

of the ten days’ passage. Then it was that I began to under-

stand how tired I really was. These long sleeps I kept up for

a month after we landed on the other side. It was such an

unusual feeling to wake up in the morning and realize that

I had no engagements; did not have to take a train at a

certain hour; did not have an appointment to meet some

one, or to make an address, at a certain hour. How different

all this was from the experiences that I have been through

when travelling, when I have sometimes slept in three dif-

ferent beds in a single night!

When Sunday came, the captain invited me to conduct

the religious services, but, not being a minister, I declined.

The passengers, however, began making requests that I

deliver an address to them in the dining-saloon some time

during the voyage, and this I consented to do. Senator

Sewell presided at this meeting. After ten days of delightful

weather, during which I was not seasick for a day, we landed

at the interesting old city of Antwerp, in Belgium.

The next day after we landed happened to be one of

those numberless holidays which the people of those coun-

tries are in the habit of observing. It was a bright, beau-

tiful day. Our room in the hotel faced the main public

square, and the sights there—the people coming in from

the country with all kinds of beautiful flowers to sell, the

women coming in with their dogs drawing large, brightly

polished cans filled with milk, the people streaming into

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the cathedral—filled me with a sense of newness that I

had never before experienced.

After spending some time in Antwerp, we were invited

to go with a part of a half-dozen persons on a trip through

Holland. This party included Edward Marshall and some

American artists who had come over on the same steamer

with us. We accepted the invitation, and enjoyed the trip

greatly. I think it was all the more interesting and in-

structive because we went for most of the way on one of

the slow, old-fashioned canal-boats. This gave us an op-

portunity of seeing and studying the real life of the people

in the country districts. We went in this way as far as

Rotterdam, and later went to The Hague, where the Peace

Conference was then in session, and where we were kindly

received by the American representatives.

The thing that impressed itself most on me in Holland

was the thoroughness of the agriculture and the excel-

lence of the Holstein cattle. I never knew, before visiting

Holland, how much it was possible for people to get out

of a small plot of ground. It seemed to me that abso-

lutely no land was wasted. It was worth a trip to Holland,

too, just to get a sight of three or four hundred fine

Holstein cows grazing in one of those intensely green fields.

From Holland we went to Belgium, and made a hasty

trip through that country, stopping at Brussels, where we

visited the battlefield of Waterloo. From Belgium we went

direct to Paris, where we found that Mr. Theodore Stanton,

the son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, had kindly pro-

vided accommodations for us. We had barely got settled

in Paris before an invitation came to me from the Univer-

sity Club of Paris to be its guest at a banquet which was

soon to be given. The other guests were ex-President Ben-

jamin Harrison and Archbishop Ireland, who were in Paris

at the time. The American Ambassador, General Horace

Porter, presided at the banquet. My address on this occa-

sion seemed to give satisfaction to those who heard it.

General Harrison kindly devoted a large portion of his re-

marks at dinner to myself and to the influence of the work

at Tuskegee on the American race question. After my ad-

dress at this banquet other invitations came to me, but I

declined the most of them, knowing that if I accepted

them all, the object of my visit would be defeated. I did,

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Booker T. Washington however, consent to deliver an address in the American

chapel the following Sunday morning, and at this meeting

General Harrison, General Porter, and other distinguished

Americans were present.

Later we received a formal call from the American Am-

bassador, and were invited to attend a reception at his

residence. At this reception we met many Americans, among

them Justices Fuller and Harlan, of the United States Su-

preme Court. During our entire stay of a month in Paris,

both the American Ambassador and his wife, as well as

several other Americans, were very kind to us.

While in Paris we saw a good deal of the now famous

American Negro painter, Mr. Henry O. Tanner, whom we

had formerly known in America. It was very satisfactory

to find how well known Mr. Tanner was in the field of art,

and to note the high standing which all classes accorded

to him. When we told some Americans that we were going

to the Luxembourg Palace to see a painting by an Ameri-

can Negro, it was hard to convince them that a Negro had

been thus honoured. I do not believe that they were really

convinced of the fact until they saw the picture for them-

selves. My acquaintance with Mr. Tanner reenforced in my

mind the truth which I am constantly trying to impress

upon our students at Tuskegee—and on our people

throughout the country, as far as I can reach them with

my voice—that any man, regardless of colour, will be

recognized and rewarded just in proportion as he learns to

do something well—learns to do it better than some one

else—however humble the thing may be. As I have said, I

believe that my race will succeed in proportion as it learns

to do a common thing in an uncommon manner; learns to

do a thing so thoroughly that no one can improve upon

what it has done; learns to make its services of indispens-

able value. This was the spirit that inspired me in my first

effort at Hampton, when I was given the opportunity to

sweep and dust that schoolroom. In a degree I felt that

my whole future life depended upon the thoroughness

with which I cleaned that room, and I was determined to

do it so well that no one could find any fault with the job.

Few people ever stopped, I found, when looking at his

pictures, to inquire whether Mr. Tanner was a Negro painter,

a French painter, or a German painter. They simply knew

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that he was able to produce something which the world

wanted—a great painting—and the matter of his colour

did not enter into their minds. When a Negro girl learns to

cook, to wash dishes, to sew, or write a book, or a Negro

boy learns to groom horses, or to grow sweet potatoes, or

to produce butter, or to build a house, or to be able to

practise medicine, as well or better than some one else,

they will be rewarded regardless of race or colour. In the

long run, the world is going to have the best, and any

difference in race, religion, or previous history will not

long keep the world from what it wants.

I think that the whole future of my race hinges on the

question as to whether or not it can make itself of such

indispensible value that the people in the town and the

state where we reside will feel that our presence is neces-

sary to the happiness and well-being of the community.

No man who continues to add something to the material,

intellectual, and moral well-being of the place in which he

lives is long left without proper reward. This is a great

human law which cannot be permanently nullified.

The love of pleasure and excitement which seems in a

large measure to possess the French people impressed it-

self upon me. I think they are more noted in this respect

than is true of the people of my own race. In point of

morality and moral earnestness I do not believe that the

French are ahead of my own race in America. Severe com-

petition and the great stress of life have led them to learn

to do things more thoroughly and to exercise greater

economy; but time, I think, will bring my race to the

same point. In the matter of truth and high honour I do

not believe that the average Frenchman is ahead of the

American Negro; while so far as mercy and kindness to

dumb animals go, I believe that my race is far ahead. In

fact, when I left France, I had more faith in the future of

the black man in America than I had ever possessed.

From Paris we went to London, and reached there early

in July, just about the height of the London social season.

Parliament was in session, and there was a great deal of

gaiety. Mr. Garrison and other friends had provided us

with a large number of letters of introduction, and they

had also sent letters to other persons in different parts of

the United Kingdom, apprising these people of our com-

171

Booker T. Washington ing. Very soon after reaching London we were flooded

with invitations to attend all manner of social functions,

and a great many invitations came to me asking that I

deliver public addresses. The most of these invitations I

declined, for the reason that I wanted to rest. Neither

were we able to accept more than a small proportion of

the other invitations. The Rev. Dr. Brooke Herford and

Mrs. Herford, whom I had known in Boston, consulted

with the American Ambassador, the Hon. Joseph Choate,

and arranged for me to speak at a public meeting to be

held in Essex Hall. Mr. Choate kindly consented to preside.

The meeting was largely attended. There were many dis-

tinguished persons present, among them several members

of Parliament, including Mr. James Bryce, who spoke at

the meeting. What the American Ambassador said in in-

troducing me, as well as a synopsis of what I said, was

widely published in England and in the American papers at

the time. Dr. and Mrs. Herford gave Mrs. Washington and

myself a reception, at which we had the privilege of meeting

some of the best people in England. Throughout our stay

in London Ambassador Choate was most kind and atten-

tive to us. At the Ambassador’s reception I met, for the

first time, Mark Twain.

We were the guests several times of Mrs. T. Fisher Unwin,

the daughter of the English statesman, Richard Cobden. It

seemed as if both Mr. and Mrs. Unwin could not do enough

for our comfort and happiness. Later, for nearly a week,

we were the guests of the daughter of John Bright, now

Mrs. Clark, of Street, England. Both Mr. and Mrs. Clark,

with their daughter, visited us at Tuskegee the next year.

In Birmingham, England, we were the guests for several

days of Mr. Joseph Sturge, whose father was a great abo-

litionist and friend of Whittier and Garrison. It was a great

privilege to meet throughout England those who had known

and honoured the late William Lloyd Garrison, the Hon.

Frederick Douglass, and other abolitionists. The English

abolitionists with whom we came in contact never seemed

to tire of talking about these two Americans. Before go-

ing to England I had had no proper conception of the

deep interest displayed by the abolitionists of England in

the cause of freedom, nor did I realize the amount of

substantial help given by them.

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UP FROM SLAVERY

In Bristol, England, both Mrs. Washington and I spoke

at the Women’s Liberal Club. I was also the principal speaker

at the Commencement exercises of the Royal College for

the Blind. These exercises were held in the Crystal Palace,

and the presiding officer was the late Duke of Westminster,

who was said to be, I believe, the richest man in England,

if not in the world. The Duke, as well as his wife and their

daughter, seemed to be pleased with what I said, and

thanked me heartily. Through the kindness of Lady Aber-

deen, my wife and I were enabled to go with a party of

those who were attending the International Congress of

Women, then in session in London, to see Queen Victoria,

at Windsor Castle, where, afterward, we were all the guests

of her Majesty at tea. In our party was Miss Susan B.

Anthony, and I was deeply impressed with the fact that

one did not often get an opportunity to see, during the

same hour, two women so remarkable in different ways as

Susan B. Anthony and Queen Victoria.

In the House of Commons, which we visited several times,

we met Sir Henry M. Stanley. I talked with him about

Africa and its relation to the American Negro, and after

my interview with him I became more convinced than

ever that there was no hope of the American Negro’s im-

proving his condition by emigrating to Africa.

On various occasions Mrs. Washington and I were the

guests of Englishmen in their country homes, where, I

think, one sees the Englishman at his best. In one thing,

at least, I feel sure that the English are ahead of Ameri-

cans, and that is, that they have learned how to get more

out of life. The home life of the English seems to me to be

about as perfect as anything can be. Everything moves

like clockwork. I was impressed, too, with the deference

that the servants show to their “masters” and “mis-

tresses,”—terms which I suppose would not be tolerated

in America. The English servant expects, as a rule, to be

nothing but a servant, and so he perfects himself in the

art to a degree that no class of servants in America has

yet reached. In our country the servant expects to be-

come, in a few years, a “master” himself. Which system is

preferable? I will not venture an answer.

Another thing that impressed itself upon me through-

out England was the high regard that all classes have for

173

Booker T. Washington law and order, and the ease and thoroughness with which

everything is done. The Englishmen, I found, took plenty

of time for eating, as for everything else. I am not sure if,

in the long run, they do not accomplish as much or more

than rushing, nervous Americans do.

My visit to England gave me a higher regard for the

nobility than I had had. I had no idea that they were so

generally loved and respected by the classes, nor that I

any correct conception of how much time and money they

spent in works of philanthropy, and how much real heart

they put into this work. My impression had been that

they merely spent money freely and had a “good time.”

It was hard for me to get accustomed to speaking to

English audiences. The average Englishman is so serious,

and is so tremendously in earnest about everything, that

when I told a story that would have made an American

audience roar with laughter, the Englishmen simply looked

me straight in the face without even cracking a smile.

When the Englishman takes you into his heart and friend-

ship, he binds you there as with cords of steel, and I do

not believe that there are many other friendships that are

so lasting or so satisfactory. Perhaps I can illustrate this

point in no better way than by relating the following in-

cident. Mrs. Washington and I were invited to attend a

reception given by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland,

at Stafford House—said to be the finest house in London;

I may add that I believe the Duchess of Sutherland is said

to be the most beautiful woman in England. There must

have been at least three hundred persons at this recep-

tion. Twice during the evening the Duchess sought us out

for a conversation, and she asked me to write her when we

got home, and tell her more about the work at Tuskegee.

This I did. When Christmas came we were surprised and

delighted to receive her photograph with her autograph

on it. The correspondence has continued, and we now feel

that in the Duchess of Sutherland we have one of our

warmest friends.

After three months in Europe we sailed from Southampton

in the steamship St. Louis. On this steamer there was a

fine library that had been presented to the ship by the

citizens of St. Louis, Mo. In this library I found a life of

Frederick Douglass, which I began reading. I became es-

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UP FROM SLAVERY

pecially interested in Mr. Douglass’s description of the

way he was treated on shipboard during his first or second

visit to England. In this description he told how he was

not permitted to enter the cabin, but had to confine

himself to the deck of the ship. A few minutes after I had

finished reading this description I was waited on by a

committee of ladies and gentlemen with the request that

I deliver an address at a concert which was to begin the

following evening. And yet there are people who are bold

enough to say that race feeling in America is not growing

less intense! At this concert the Hon. Benjamin B. Odell,

Jr., the present governor of New York, presided. I was

never given a more cordial hearing anywhere. A large pro-

portion of the passengers with Southern people. After the

concert some of the passengers proposed that a subscrip-

tion be raised to help the work at Tuskegee, and the money

to support several scholarships was the result.

While we were in Paris I was very pleasantly surprised to

receive the following invitation from the citizens of West

Virginia and of the city near which I had spent my boy-

hood days:—

Charleston, W. Va., May 16, 1899.

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: Many of the best citizens of West Virginia have

united in liberal expressions of admiration and praise of

your worth and work, and desire that on your return from

Europe you should favour them with your presence and

with the inspiration of your words. We must sincerely in-

dorse this move, and on behalf of the citizens of Charles-

ton extend to your our most cordial invitation to have

you come to us, that we may honour you who have done

so much by your life and work to honour us.

We are,

Very truly yours,

The Common Council of the City of Charleston,

By W. Herman Smith, Mayor.

This invitation from the City Council of Charleston was

accompanied by the following:—

175

Booker T. Washington Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: We, the citizens of Charleston and West Vir-

ginia, desire to express our pride in you and the splendid

career that you have thus far accomplished, and ask that

we be permitted to show our pride and interest in a

substantial way.

Your recent visit to your old home in our midst awoke

within us the keenest regret that we were not permitted

to hear you and render some substantial aid to your work,

before you left for Europe.

In view of the foregoing, we earnestly invite you to

share the hospitality of our city upon your return from

Europe, and give us the opportunity to hear you and put

ourselves in touch with your work in a way that will be

most gratifying to yourself, and that we may receive the

inspiration of your words and presence.

An early reply to this invitation, with an indication of

the time you may reach our city, will greatly oblige,

Yours very respectfully,

The Charleston Daily Gazette, The Daily Mail-Tribune;

G.W. Atkinson, Governor; E.L. Boggs, Secretary to

Governor; Wm. M.O. Dawson, Secretary of State; L.M. La

Follette, Auditor; J.R. Trotter, Superintendent of

Schools; E.W. Wilson, ex-Governor; W.A. MacCorkle, ex-

Governor; John Q. Dickinson, President Kanawha Valley

Bank; L. Prichard, President Charleston National Bank;

Geo. S. Couch, President Kanawha National Bank; Ed.

Reid, Cashier Kanawha National Bank; Geo. S. Laidley,

Superintended City Schools; L.E. McWhorter, President

Board of Education; Chas. K. Payne, wholesale merchant;

and many others.

This invitation, coming as it did from the City Council,

the state officers, and all the substantial citizens of both

races of the community where I had spent my boyhood,

and from which I had gone a few years before, unknown,

in poverty and ignorance, in quest of an education, not

only surprised me, but almost unmanned me. I could not

understand what I had done to deserve it all.

I accepted the invitation, and at the appointed day was

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UP FROM SLAVERY

met at the railway station at Charleston by a committee

headed by ex-Governor W.A. MacCorkle, and composed of

men of both races. The public reception was held in the

Opera-House at Charleston. The Governor of the state, the

Hon. George W. Atkinson, presided, and an address of

welcome was made by ex-Governor MacCorkle. A promi-

nent part in the reception was taken by the coloured citi-

zens. The Opera-House was filled with citizens of both

races, and among the white people were many for whom I

had worked when I was a boy. The next day Governor and

Mrs. Atkinson gave me a public reception at the State

House, which was attended by all classes.

Not long after this the coloured people in Atlanta, Geor-

gia, gave me a reception at which the Governor of the

state presided, and a similar reception was given me in

New Orleans, which was presided over by the Mayor of the

city. Invitations came from many other places which I

was not able to accept.

Chapter XVII. Last Words

B efore going to Europe some events came into my

life which were great surprises to me. In fact, my

whole life has largely been one of surprises. I be-

lieve that any man’s life will be filled with constant, unex-

pected encouragements of this kind if he makes up his

mind to do his level best each day of his life—that is,

tries to make each day reach as nearly as possible the

high-water mark of pure, unselfish, useful living. I pity

the man, black or white, who has never experienced the

joy and satisfaction that come to one by reason of an

effort to assist in making some one else more useful and

more happy.

Six months before he died, and nearly a year after he

had been stricken with paralysis, General Armstrong ex-

pressed a wish to visit Tuskegee again before he passed

away. Notwithstanding the fact that he had lost the use

of his limbs to such an extent that he was practically

helpless, his wish was gratified, and he was brought to

Tuskegee. The owners of the Tuskegee Railroad, white men

177

Booker T. Washington living in the town, offered to run a special train, with-

out cost, out of the main station—Chehaw, five miles

away—to meet him. He arrived on the school grounds

about nine o’clock in the evening. Some one had sug-

gested that we give the General a “pine-knot torchlight

reception.” This plan was carried out, and the moment

that his carriage entered the school grounds he began

passing between two lines of lighted and waving “fat

pine” wood knots held by over a thousand students and

teachers. The whole thing was so novel and surprising

that the General was completely overcome with happi-

ness. He remained a guest in my home for nearly two

months, and, although almost wholly without the use of

voice or limb, he spent nearly every hour in devising

ways and means to help the South. Time and time again

he said to me, during this visit, that it was not only the

duty of the country to assist in elevating the Negro of

the South, but the poor white man as well. At the end of

his visit I resolved anew to devote myself more earnestly

than ever to the cause which was so near his heart. I

said that if a man in his condition was willing to think,

work, and act, I should not be wanting in furthering in

every possible way the wish of his heart.

The death of General Armstrong, a few weeks later,

gave me the privilege of getting acquainted with one

of the finest, most unselfish, and most attractive men

that I have ever come in contact with. I refer to the

Rev. Dr. Hollis B. Frissell, now the Principal of the Hamp-

ton Institute, and General Armstrong’s successor. Un-

der the clear, strong, and almost perfect leadership of

Dr. Frissell, Hampton has had a career of prosperity and

usefulness that is all that the General could have wished

for. It seems to be the constant effort of Dr. Frissell to

hide his own great personality behind that of General

Armstrong—to make himself of “no reputation” for the

sake of the cause.

More than once I have been asked what was the great-

est surprise that ever came to me. I have little hesita-

tion in answering that question. It was the following

letter, which came to me one Sunday morning when I

was sitting on the veranda of my home at Tuskegee,

surrounded by my wife and three children:—

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UP FROM SLAVERY

Harvard University, Cambridge, May 28, 1896.

President Booker T. Washington,

My Dear Sir: Harvard University desired to confer on you

at the approaching Commencement an honorary degree;

but it is our custom to confer degrees only on gentlemen

who are present. Our Commencement occurs this year on

June 24, and your presence would be desirable from about

noon till about five o’clock in the afternoon. Would it be

possible for you to be in Cambridge on that day?

Believe me, with great regard,

Very truly yours,

Charles W. Eliot.

This was a recognition that had never in the slightest

manner entered into my mind, and it was hard for me to

realize that I was to be honoured by a degree from the

oldest and most renowned university in America. As I sat

upon my veranda, with this letter in my hand, tears came

into my eyes. My whole former life—my life as a slave on

the plantation, my work in the coal-mine, the times when

I was without food and clothing, when I made my bed

under a sidewalk, my struggles for an education, the try-

ing days I had had at Tuskegee, days when I did not know

where to turn for a dollar to continue the work there, the

ostracism and sometimes oppression of my race,—all this

passed before me and nearly overcame me.

I had never sought or cared for what the world calls

fame. I have always looked upon fame as something to be

used in accomplishing good. I have often said to my friends

that if I can use whatever prominence may have come to

me as an instrument with which to do good, I am content

to have it. I care for it only as a means to be used for

doing good, just as wealth may be used. The more I come

into contact with wealthy people, the more I believe that

they are growing in the direction of looking upon their

money simply as an instrument which God has placed in

their hand for doing good with. I never go to the office of

Mr. John D. Rockefeller, who more than once has been

generous to Tuskegee, without being reminded of this.

179

Booker T. Washington The close, careful, and minute investigation that he al-

ways makes in order to be sure that every dollar that he

gives will do the most good—an investigation that is just

as searching as if he were investing money in a business

enterprise—convinces me that the growth in this direc-

tion is most encouraging.

At nine o’clock, on the morning of June 24, I met Presi-

dent Eliot, the Board of Overseers of Harvard University,

and the other guests, at the designated place on the uni-

versity grounds, for the purpose of being escorted to Sand-

ers Theatre, where the Commencement exercises were to be

held and degrees conferred. Among others invited to be

present for the purpose of receiving a degree at this time

were General Nelson A. Miles, Dr. Bell, the inventor of the

Bell telephone, Bishop Vincent, and the Rev. Minot J. Sav-

age. We were placed in line immediately behind the Presi-

dent and the Board of Overseers, and directly afterward the

Governor of Massachusetts, escorted by the Lancers, ar-

rived and took his place in the line of march by the side of

President Eliot. In the line there were also various other

officers and professors, clad in cap and gown. In this order

we marched to Sanders Theatre, where, after the usual Com-

mencement exercises, came the conferring of the honorary

degrees. This, it seems, is always considered the most in-

teresting feature at Harvard. It is not known, until the

individuals appear, upon whom the honorary degrees are to

be conferred, and those receiving these honours are cheered

by the students and others in proportion to their popular-

ity. During the conferring of the degrees excitement and

enthusiasm are at the highest pitch.

When my name was called, I rose, and President Eliot, in

beautiful and strong English, conferred upon me the de-

gree of Master of Arts. After these exercises were over,

those who had received honorary degrees were invited to

lunch with the President. After the lunch we were formed

in line again, and were escorted by the Marshal of the day,

who that year happened to be Bishop William Lawrence,

through the grounds, where, at different points, those

who had been honoured were called by name and received

the Harvard yell. This march ended at Memorial Hall, where

the alumni dinner was served. To see over a thousand

strong men, representing all that is best in State, Church,

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UP FROM SLAVERY

business, and education, with the glow and enthusiasm of

college loyalty and college pride,—which has, I think, a

peculiar Harvard flavour,—is a sight that does not easily

fade from memory.

Among the speakers after dinner were President Eliot,

Governor Roger Wolcott, General Miles, Dr. Minot J. Sav-

age, the Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge, and myself. When I was

called upon, I said, among other things:—

It would in some measure relieve my embarrassment if I

could, even in a slight degree, feel myself worthy of the

great honour which you do me to-day. Why you have called

me from the Black Belt of the South, from among my

humble people, to share in the honours of this occasion,

is not for me to explain; and yet it may not be inappropri-

ate for me to suggest that it seems to me that one of the

most vital questions that touch our American life is how

to bring the strong, wealthy, and learned into helpful touch

with the poorest, most ignorant, and humblest, and at

the same time make one appreciate the vitalizing, strength-

ening influence of the other. How shall we make the man-

sion on yon Beacon Street feel and see the need of the

spirits in the lowliest cabin in Alabama cotton-fields or

Louisiana sugar-bottoms? This problem Harvard Univer-

sity is solving, not by bringing itself down, but by bring-

ing the masses up.

* * * * * * *

I f my life in the past has meant anything in the lift

ing up of my people and the bringing about of bet

ter relations between your race and mine, I assure

you from this day it will mean doubly more. In the economy

of God there is but one standard by which an individual

can succeed—there is but one for a race. This country

demands that every race shall measure itself by the Ameri-

can standard. By it a race must rise or fall, succeed or fail,

and in the last analysis mere sentiment counts for little.

During the next half-century and more, my race must

continue passing through the severe American crucible.

We are to be tested in our patience, our forbearance, our

perseverance, our power to endure wrong, to withstand

temptations, to economize, to acquire and use skill; in

our ability to compete, to succeed in commerce, to disre-

181

Booker T. Washington gard the superficial for the real, the appearance for the

substance, to be great and yet small, learned and yet

simple, high and yet the servant of all.

As this was the first time that a New England university

had conferred an honorary degree upon a Negro, it was

the occasion of much newspaper comment throughout

the country. A correspondent of a New York Paper said:—

When the name of Booker T. Washington was called, and

he arose to acknowledge and accept, there was such an

outburst of applause as greeted no other name except

that of the popular soldier patriot, General Miles. The

applause was not studied and stiff, sympathetic and con-

doling; it was enthusiasm and admiration. Every part of

the audience from pit to gallery joined in, and a glow

covered the cheeks of those around me, proving sincere

appreciation of the rising struggle of an ex-slave and the

work he has accomplished for his race.

A Boston paper said, editorially:—

In conferring the honorary degree of Master of Arts upon

the Principal of Tuskegee Institute, Harvard University has

honoured itself as well as the object of this distinction.

The work which Professor Booker T. Washington has ac-

complished for the education, good citizenship, and popu-

lar enlightenment in his chosen field of labour in the South

entitles him to rank with our national benefactors. The

university which can claim him on its list of sons, whether

in regular course or honoris causa, may be proud.

It has been mentioned that Mr. Washington is the first

of his race to receive an honorary degree from a New En-

gland university. This, in itself, is a distinction. But the

degree was not conferred because Mr. Washington is a

coloured man, or because he was born in slavery, but

because he has shown, by his work for the elevation of

the people of the Black Belt of the South, a genius and a

broad humanity which count for greatness in any man,

whether his skin be white or black.

Another Boston paper said:—

It is Harvard which, first among New England colleges,

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confers an honorary degree upon a black man. No one who

has followed the history of Tuskegee and its work can fail

to admire the courage, persistence, and splendid common

sense of Booker T. Washington.

Well may Harvard honour the ex-slave, the value of whose

services, alike to his race and country, only the future can

estimate.

The correspondent of the New York Times wrote:—

All the speeches were enthusiastically received, but the

coloured man carried off the oratorical honours, and the

applause which broke out when he had finished was vocif-

erous and long-continued.

Soon after I began work at Tuskegee I formed a resolu-

tion, in the secret of my heart, that I would try to build

up a school that would be of so much service to the

country that the President of the United States would one

day come to see it. This was, I confess, rather a bold

resolution, and for a number of years I kept it hidden in

my own thoughts, not daring to share it with any one.

In November, 1897, I made the first move in this di-

rection, and that was in securing a visit from a member

of President McKinley’s Cabinet, the Hon. James Wilson,

Secretary of Agriculture. He came to deliver an address

at the formal opening of the Slater-Armstrong Agricul-

tural Building, our first large building to be used for the

purpose of giving training to our students in agriculture

and kindred branches.

In the fall of 1898 I heard that President McKinley was

likely to visit Atlanta, Georgia, for the purpose of taking

part in the Peace Jubilee exercises to be held there to

commemorate the successful close of the Spanish-Ameri-

can war. At this time I had been hard at work, together

with our teachers, for eighteen years, trying to build up a

school that we thought would be of service to the Nation,

and I determined to make a direct effort to secure a visit

from the President and his Cabinet. I went to Washington,

and I was not long in the city before I found my way to

the White House. When I got there I found the waiting

rooms full of people, and my heart began to sink, for I

feared there would not be much chance of my seeing the

183

Booker T. Washington President that day, if at all. But, at any rate, I got an

opportunity to see Mr. J. Addison Porter, the secretary to

the President, and explained to him my mission. Mr. Por-

ter kindly sent my card directly to the President, and in a

few minutes word came from Mr. McKinley that he would

see me.

How any man can see so many people of all kinds, with

all kinds of errands, and do so much hard work, and still

keep himself calm, patient, and fresh for each visitor in

the way that President McKinley does, I cannot under-

stand. When I saw the President he kindly thanked me for

the work which we were doing at Tuskegee for the inter-

ests of the country. I then told him, briefly, the object of

my visit. I impressed upon him the fact that a visit from

the Chief Executive of the Nation would not only encour-

age our students and teachers, but would help the entire

race. He seemed interested, but did not make a promise

to go to Tuskegee, for the reason that his plans about

going to Atlanta were not then fully made; but he asked

me to call the matter to his attention a few weeks later.

By the middle of the following month the President had

definitely decided to attend the Peace Jubilee at Atlanta.

I went to Washington again and saw him, with a view of

getting him to extend his trip to Tuskegee. On this sec-

ond visit Mr. Charles W. Hare, a prominent white citizen of

Tuskegee, kindly volunteered to accompany me, to

reenforce my invitation with one from the white people of

Tuskegee and the vicinity.

Just previous to my going to Washington the second

time, the country had been excited, and the coloured

people greatly depressed, because of several severe race

riots which had occurred at different points in the South.

As soon as I saw the President, I perceived that his

heart was greatly burdened by reason of these race dis-

turbances. Although there were many people waiting to

see him, he detained me for some time, discussing the

condition and prospects of the race. He remarked several

times that he was determined to show his interest and

faith in the race, not merely in words, but by acts. When

I told him that I thought that at that time scarcely

anything would go father in giving hope and encourage-

ment to the race than the fact that the President of the

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UP FROM SLAVERY

Nation would be willing to travel one hundred and forty

miles out of his way to spend a day at a Negro institu-

tion, he seemed deeply impressed.

While I was with the President, a white citizen of At-

lanta, a Democrat and an ex-slaveholder, came into the

room, and the President asked his opinion as to the wis-

dom of his going to Tuskegee. Without hesitation the At-

lanta man replied that it was the proper thing for him to

do. This opinion was reenforced by that friend of the race,

Dr. J.L.M. Curry. The President promised that he would

visit our school on the 16th of December.

When it became known that the President was going to

visit our school, the white citizens of the town of

Tuskegee—a mile distant from the school—were as much

pleased as were our students and teachers. The white people

of this town, including both men and women, began ar-

ranging to decorate the town, and to form themselves

into committees for the purpose of cooperating with the

officers of our school in order that the distinguished visi-

tor might have a fitting reception. I think I never realized

before this how much the white people of Tuskegee and

vicinity thought of our institution. During the days when

we were preparing for the President’s reception, dozens of

these people came to me and said that, while they did not

want to push themselves into prominence, if there was

anything they could do to help, or to relieve me person-

ally, I had but to intimate it and they would be only too

glad to assist. In fact, the thing that touched me almost

as deeply as the visit of the President itself was the deep

pride which all classes of citizens in Alabama seemed to

take in our work.

The morning of December 16th brought to the little

city of Tuskegee such a crowd as it had never seen before.

With the President came Mrs. McKinley and all of the Cabi-

net officers but one; and most of them brought their

wives or some members of their families. Several promi-

nent generals came, including General Shafter and General

Joseph Wheeler, who were recently returned from the Span-

ish-American war. There was also a host of newspaper cor-

respondents. The Alabama Legislature was in session in

Montgomery at this time. This body passed a resolution

to adjourn for the purpose of visited Tuskegee. Just be-

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Booker T. Washington fore the arrival of the President’s party the Legislature

arrived, headed by the governor and other state officials.

The citizens of Tuskegee had decorated the town from

the station to the school in a generous manner. In order to

economize in the matter of time, we arranged to have the

whole school pass in review before the President. Each stu-

dent carried a stalk of sugar-cane with some open bolls of

cotton fastened to the end of it. Following the students

the work of all departments of the school passed in review,

displayed on “floats” drawn by horses, mules, and oxen. On

these floats we tried to exhibit not only the present work

of the school, but to show the contrasts between the old

methods of doing things and the new. As an example, we

showed the old method of dairying in contrast with the

improved methods, the old methods of tilling the soil in

contrast with the new, the old methods of cooking and

housekeeping in contrast with the new. These floats con-

sumed an hour and a half of time in passing.

In his address in our large, new chapel, which the stu-

dents had recently completed, the President said, among

other things:—

To meet you under such pleasant auspices and to have

the opportunity of a personal observation of your work is

indeed most gratifying. The Tuskegee Normal and Industrial

Institute is ideal in its conception, and has already a large

and growing reputation in the country, and is not unknown

abroad. I congratulate all who are associated in this under-

taking for the good work which it is doing in the education

of its students to lead lives of honour and usefulness, thus

exalting the race for which it was established.

Nowhere, I think, could a more delightful location have

been chosen for this unique educational experiment, which

has attracted the attention and won the support even of

conservative philanthropists in all sections of the country.

To speak of Tuskegee without paying special tribute to

Booker T. Washington’s genius and perseverance would be

impossible. The inception of this noble enterprise was his,

and he deserves high credit for it. His was the enthusiasm

and enterprise which made its steady progress possible

and established in the institution its present high stan-

dard of accomplishment. He has won a worthy reputation

as one of the great leaders of his race, widely known and

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UP FROM SLAVERY

much respected at home and abroad as an accomplished

educator, a great orator, and a true philanthropist.

The Hon. John D. Long, the Secretary of the Navy, said

in part:—

I cannot make a speech to-day. My heart is too full—

full of hope, admiration, and pride for my countrymen of

both sections and both colours. I am filled with gratitude

and admiration for your work, and from this time forward

I shall have absolute confidence in your progress and in

the solution of the problem in which you are engaged.

The problem, I say, has been solved. A picture has been

presented to-day which should be put upon canvas with

the pictures of Washington and Lincoln, and transmitted

to future time and generations—a picture which the press

of the country should spread broadcast over the land, a

most dramatic picture, and that picture is this: The Presi-

dent of the United States standing on this platform; on

one side the Governor of Alabama, on the other, complet-

ing the trinity, a representative of a race only a few years

ago in bondage, the coloured President of the Tuskegee

Normal and Industrial Institute.

God bless the President under whose majesty such a

scene as that is presented to the American people. God

bless the state of Alabama, which is showing that it can

deal with this problem for itself. God bless the orator,

philanthropist, and disciple of the Great Master—who, if

he were on earth, would be doing the same work—Booker

T. Washington.

Postmaster General Smith closed the address which he

made with these words:—

We have witnessed many spectacles within the last few

days. We have seen the magnificent grandeur and the

magnificent achievements of one of the great metropoli-

tan cities of the South. We have seen heroes of the war

pass by in procession. We have seen floral parades. But I

am sure my colleagues will agree with me in saying that

we have witnessed no spectacle more impressive and more

encouraging, more inspiring for our future, than that which

we have witnessed here this morning.

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Booker T. Washington

Some days after the President returned to Washington I

received the letter which follows:—

Executive Mansion, Washington, Dec. 23, 1899.

Dear Sir: By this mail I take pleasure in sending you en-

grossed copies of the souvenir of the visit of the President

to your institution. These sheets bear the autographs of

the President and the members of the Cabinet who ac-

companied him on the trip. Let me take this opportunity

of congratulating you most heartily and sincerely upon

the great success of the exercises provided for and enter-

tainment furnished us under your auspices during our visit

to Tuskegee. Every feature of the programme was per-

fectly executed and was viewed or participated in with

the heartiest satisfaction by every visitor present. The

unique exhibition which you gave of your pupils engaged

in their industrial vocations was not only artistic but thor-

oughly impressive. The tribute paid by the President and

his Cabinet to your work was none too high, and forms a

most encouraging augury, I think, for the future prosper-

ity of your institution. I cannot close without assuring

you that the modesty shown by yourself in the exercises

was most favourably commented upon by all the members

of our party.

With best wishes for the continued advance of your most

useful and patriotic undertaking, kind personal regards,

and the compliments of the season, believe me, always,

Very sincerely yours,

John Addison Porter,

Secretary to the President.

To President Booker T. Washington, Tuskegee Normal and

Industrial Institute, Tuskegee, Ala.

Twenty years have now passed since I made the first

humble effort at Tuskegee, in a broken-down shanty and

an old hen-house, without owning a dollar’s worth of prop-

erty, and with but one teacher and thirty students. At the

present time the institution owns twenty-three hundred

acres of land, one thousand of which are under cultivation

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each year, entirely by student labour. There are now upon

the grounds, counting large and small, sixty-six build-

ings; and all except four of these have been almost wholly

erected by the labour of our students. While the students

are at work upon the land and in erecting buildings, they

are taught, by competent instructors, the latest methods

of agriculture and the trades connected with building.

There are in constant operation at the school, in con-

nection with thorough academic and religious training,

thirty industrial departments. All of these teach indus-

tries at which our men and women can find immediate

employment as soon as they leave the institution. The

only difficulty now is that the demand for our graduates

from both white and black people in the South is so great

that we cannot supply more than one-half the persons for

whom applications come to us. Neither have we the build-

ings nor the money for current expenses to enable us to

admit to the school more than one-half the young men

and women who apply to us for admission.

In our industrial teaching we keep three things in mind:

first, that the student shall be so educated that he shall

be enabled to meet conditions as they exist now, in the

part of the South where he lives—in a word, to be able to

do the thing which the world wants done; second, that

every student who graduates from the school shall have

enough skill, coupled with intelligence and moral charac-

ter, to enable him to make a living for himself and others;

third, to send every graduate out feeling and knowing

that labour is dignified and beautiful—to make each one

love labour instead of trying to escape it. In addition to

the agricultural training which we give to young men, and

the training given to our girls in all the usual domestic

employments, we now train a number of girls in agricul-

ture each year. These girls are taught gardening, fruit-

growing, dairying, bee-culture, and poultry-raising.

While the institution is in no sense denominational, we

have a department known as the Phelps Hall Bible Train-

ing School, in which a number of students are prepared

for the ministry and other forms of Christian work, espe-

cially work in the country districts. What is equally impor-

tant, each one of the students works . . . each day at

some industry, in order to get skill and the love of work,

189

Booker T. Washington so that when he goes out from the institution he is pre-

pared to set the people with whom he goes to labour a

proper example in the matter of industry.

The value of our property is now over $700,000. If we

add to this our endowment fund, which at present is

$1,000,000, the value of the total property is now

$1,700,000. Aside from the need for more buildings and

for money for current expenses, the endowment fund should

be increased to at least $3,000,000. The annual current

expenses are now about $150,000. The greater part of

this I collect each year by going from door to door and

from house to house. All of our property is free from

mortgage, and is deeded to an undenominational board of

trustees who have the control of the institution.

From thirty students the number has grown to fourteen

hundred, coming from twenty-seven states and territo-

ries, from Africa, Cuba, Porto Rico, Jamaica, and other

foreign countries. In our departments there are one hun-

dred and ten officers and instructors; and if we add the

families of our instructors, we have a constant population

upon our grounds of not far from seventeen hundred people.

I have often been asked how we keep so large a body of

people together, and at the same time keep them out of

mischief. There are two answers: that the men and women

who come to us for an education are in earnest; and that

everybody is kept busy. The following outline of our daily

work will testify to this:—

5 a.m., rising bell; 5.50 a.m., warning breakfast bell; 6

a.m., breakfast bell; 6.20 a.m., breakfast over; 6.20 to

6.50 a.m., rooms are cleaned; 6.50, work bell; 7.30, morn-

ing study hours; 8.20, morning school bell; 8.25, inspec-

tion of young men’s toilet in ranks; 8.40, devotional exer-

cises in chapel; 8.55, “five minutes with the daily news;”

9 a.m., class work begins; 12, class work closes; 12.15

p.m., dinner; 1 p.m., work bell; 1.30 p.m., class work

begins; 3.30 p.m., class work ends; 5.30 p.m., bell to

“knock off” work; 6 p.m., supper; 7.10 p.m., evening

prayers; 7.30 p.m., evening study hours; 8.45 p.m.,

evening study hour closes; 9.20 p.m., warning retiring

bell; 9.30 p.m., retiring bell.

We try to keep constantly in mind the fact that the

worth of the school is to be judged by its graduates.

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UP FROM SLAVERY

Counting those who have finished the full course, to-

gether with those who have taken enough training to

enable them to do reasonably good work, we can safely

say that at least six thousand men and women from

Tuskegee are now at work in different parts of the South;

men and women who, by their own example or by direct

efforts, are showing the masses of our race now to im-

prove their material, educational, and moral and reli-

gious life. What is equally important, they are exhibiting

a degree of common sense and self-control which is caus-

ing better relations to exist between the races, and is

causing the Southern white man to learn to believe in

the value of educating the men and women of my race.

Aside from this, there is the influence that is constantly

being exerted through the mothers’ meeting and the plan-

tation work conducted by Mrs. Washington.

Wherever our graduates go, the changes which soon begin

to appear in the buying of land, improving homes, saving

money, in education, and in high moral characters are

remarkable. Whole communities are fast being revolution-

ized through the instrumentality of these men and women.

Ten years ago I organized at Tuskegee the first Negro

Conference. This is an annual gathering which now brings

to the school eight or nine hundred representative men

and women of the race, who come to spend a day in

finding out what the actual industrial, mental, and moral

conditions of the people are, and in forming plans for

improvement. Out from this central Negro Conference at

Tuskegee have grown numerous state an local conferences

which are doing the same kind of work. As a result of the

influence of these gatherings, one delegate reported at

the last annual meeting that ten families in his commu-

nity had bought and paid for homes. On the day following

the annual Negro Conference, there is the “Workers’ Con-

ference.” This is composed of officers and teachers who

are engaged in educational work in the larger institutions

in the South. The Negro Conference furnishes a rare op-

portunity for these workers to study the real condition of

the rank and file of the people.

In the summer of 1900, with the assistance of such

prominent coloured men as Mr. T. Thomas Fortune, who

has always upheld my hands in every effort, I organized

191

Booker T. Washington the National Negro Business League, which held its first

meeting in Boston, and brought together for the first

time a large number of the coloured men who are engaged

in various lines of trade or business in different parts of

the United States. Thirty states were represented at our

first meeting. Out of this national meeting grew state and

local business leagues.

In addition to looking after the executive side of the

work at Tuskegee, and raising the greater part of the money

for the support of the school, I cannot seem to escape

the duty of answering at least a part of the calls which

come to me unsought to address Southern white audi-

ences and audiences of my own race, as well as frequent

gatherings in the North. As to how much of my time is

spent in this way, the following clipping from a Buffalo

(N.Y.) paper will tell. This has reference to an occasion

when I spoke before the National Educational Association

in that city.

Booker T. Washington, the foremost educator among

the coloured people of the world, was a very busy man

from the time he arrived in the city the other night from

the West and registered at the Iroquois. He had hardly

removed the stains of travel when it was time to partake

of supper. Then he held a public levee in the parlours of

the Iroquois until eight o’clock. During that time he was

greeted by over two hundred eminent teachers and educa-

tors from all parts of the United States. Shortly after eight

o’clock he was driven in a carriage to Music Hall, and in

one hour and a half he made two ringing addresses, to as

many as five thousand people, on Negro education. Then

Mr. Washington was taken in charge by a delegation of

coloured citizens, headed by the Rev. Mr. Watkins, and

hustled off to a small informal reception, arranged in

honour of the visitor by the people of his race.

Nor can I, in addition to making these addresses, escape

the duty of calling the attention of the South and of the

country in general, through the medium of the press, to

matters that pertain to the interests of both races. This,

for example, I have done in regard to the evil habit of

lynching. When the Louisiana State Constitutional Con-

vention was in session, I wrote an open letter to that

body pleading for justice for the race. In all such efforts I

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UP FROM SLAVERY

have received warm and hearty support from the Southern

newspapers, as well as from those in all other parts of the

country.

Despite superficial and temporary signs which might lead

one to entertain a contrary opinion, there was never a

time when I felt more hopeful for the race than I do at

the present. The great human law that in the end recog-

nizes and rewards merit is everlasting and universal. The

outside world does not know, neither can it appreciate,

the struggle that is constantly going on in the hearts of

both the Southern white people and their former slaves to

free themselves from racial prejudice; and while both races

are thus struggling they should have the sympathy, the

support, and the forbearance of the rest of the world.

As I write the closing words of this autobiography I find

myself—not by design—in the city of Richmond, Virginia:

the city which only a few decades ago was the capital of

the Southern Confederacy, and where, about twenty-five

years ago, because of my poverty I slept night after night

under a sidewalk.

This time I am in Richmond as the guest of the coloured

people of the city; and came at their request to deliver an

address last night to both races in the Academy of Music,

the largest and finest audience room in the city. This was

the first time that the coloured people had ever been

permitted to use this hall. The day before I came, the City

Council passed a vote to attend the meeting in a body to

hear me speak. The state Legislature, including the House

of Delegates and the Senate, also passed a unaminous

vote to attend in a body. In the presence of hundreds of

coloured people, many distinguished white citizens, the

City Council, the state Legislature, and state officials, I

delivered my message, which was one of hope and cheer;

and from the bottom of my heart I thanked both races for

this welcome back to the state that gave me birth.

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