Up from Slavery: An Autobiography
The more I consider the subject, the more strongly I am convinced that
the most harmful effect of the practice to which the people in certain
sections of the South have felt themselves compelled to resort, in
order to get rid of the force of the Negroes’ ballot, is not wholly in
the wrong done to the Negro, but in the permanent injury to the morals
of the white man. The wrong to the Negro is temporary, but to the
morals of the white man the injury is permanent. I have noted time and
time again that when an individual perjures himself in order to break
the force of the black man’s ballot, he soon learns to practise
dishonesty in other relations of life, not only where the Negro is
concerned, but equally so where a white man is concerned. The white man
who begins by cheating a Negro usually ends by cheating a white man.
The white man who begins to break the law by lynching a Negro soon
yields to the temptation to lynch a white man. All this, it seems to
me, makes it important that the whole Nation lend a hand in trying to
lift the burden of ignorance from the South.
Another thing that is becoming more apparent each year in the
development of education in the South is the influence of General
Armstrong’s idea of education; and this not upon the blacks alone, but
upon the whites also. At the present time there is almost no Southern
state that is not putting forth efforts in the direction of securing
industrial education for its white boys and girls, and in most cases it
is easy to trace the history of these efforts back to General
Armstrong.
Soon after the opening of our humble boarding department students began
coming to us in still larger numbers. For weeks we not only had to
contend with the difficulty of providing board, with no money, but also
with that of providing sleeping accommodations. For this purpose we
rented a number of cabins near the school. These cabins were in a
dilapidated condition, and during the winter months the students who
occupied them necessarily suffered from the cold. We charge the
students eight dollars a month—all they were able to pay—for their
board. This included, besides board, room, fuel, and washing. We also
gave the students credit on their board bills for all the work which
they did for the school which was of any value to the institution. The
cost of tuition, which was fifty dollars a year for each student, we
had to secure then, as now, wherever we could.
This small charge in cash gave us no capital with which to start a
boarding department. The weather during the second winter of our work
was very cold. We were not able to provide enough bed-clothes to keep
the students warm. In fact, for some time we were not able to provide,
except in a few cases, bedsteads and mattresses of any kind. During the
coldest nights I was so troubled about the discomfort of the students
that I could not sleep myself. I recall that on several occasions I
went in the middle of the night to the shanties occupied by the young
men, for the purpose of confronting them. Often I found some of them
sitting huddled around a fire, with the one blanket which we had been
able to provide wrapped around them, trying in this way to keep warm.
During the whole night some of them did not attempt to lie down. One
morning, when the night previous had been unusually cold, I asked those
of the students in the chapel who thought that they had been
frostbitten during the night to raise their hands. Three hands went up.
Notwithstanding these experiences, there was almost no complaining on
the part of the students. They knew that we were doing the best that we
could for them. They were happy in the privilege of being permitted to
enjoy any kind of opportunity that would enable them to improve their
condition. They were constantly asking what they might do to lighten
the burdens of the teachers.
I have heard it stated more than once, both in the North and in the
South, that coloured people would not obey and respect each other when
one member of the race is placed in a position of authority over
others. In regard to this general belief and these statements, I can
say that during the nineteen years of my experience at Tuskegee I
never, either by word or act, have been treated with disrespect by any
student or officer connected with the institution. On the other hand, I
am constantly embarrassed by the many acts of thoughtful kindness. The
students do not seem to want to see me carry a large book or a satchel
or any kind of a burden through the grounds. In such cases more than
one always offers to relieve me. I almost never go out of my office
when the rain is falling that some student does not come to my side
with an umbrella and ask to be allowed to hold it over me.
While writing upon this subject, it is a pleasure for me to add that in
all my contact with the white people of the South I have never received
a single personal insult. The white people in and near Tuskegee, to an
especial degree, seem to count it as a privilege to show me all the
respect within their power, and often go out of their way to do this.
Not very long ago I was making a journey between Dallas (Texas) and
Houston. In some way it became known in advance that I was on the
train. At nearly every station at which the train stopped, numbers of
white people, including in most cases of the officials of the town,
came aboard and introduced themselves and thanked me heartily for the
work that I was trying to do for the South.
On another occasion, when I was making a trip from Augusta, Georgia, to
Atlanta, being rather tired from much travel, I rode in a Pullman
sleeper. When I went into the car, I found there two ladies from Boston
whom I knew well. These good ladies were perfectly ignorant, it seems,
of the customs of the South, and in the goodness of their hearts
insisted that I take a seat with them in their section. After some
hesitation I consented. I had been there but a few minutes when one of
them, without my knowledge, ordered supper to be served for the three
of us. This embarrassed me still further. The car was full of Southern
white men, most of whom had their eyes on our party. When I found that
supper had been ordered, I tried to contrive some excuse that would
permit me to leave the section, but the ladies insisted that I must eat
with them. I finally settled back in my seat with a sigh, and said to
myself, “I am in for it now, sure.”
To add further to the embarrassment of the situation, soon after the
supper was placed on the table one of the ladies remembered that she
had in her satchel a special kind of tea which she wished served, and
as she said she felt quite sure the porter did not know how to brew it
properly, she insisted upon getting up and preparing and serving it
herself. At last the meal was over; and it seemed the longest one that
I had ever eaten. When we were through, I decided to get myself out of
the embarrassing situation and go to the smoking-room, where most of
the men were by that time, to see how the land lay. In the meantime,
however, it had become known in some way throughout the car who I was.
When I went into the smoking-room I was never more surprised in my life
than when each man, nearly every one of them a citizen of Georgia, came
up and introduced himself to me and thanked me earnestly for the work
that I was trying to do for the whole South. This was not flattery,
because each one of these individuals knew that he had nothing to gain
by trying to flatter me.
From the first I have sought to impress the students with the idea that
Tuskegee is not my institution, or that of the officers, but that it is
their institution, and that they have as much interest in it as any of
the trustees or instructors. I have further sought to have them feel
that I am at the institution as their friend and adviser, and not as
their overseer. It has been my aim to have them speak with directness
and frankness about anything that concerns the life of the school. Two
or three times a year I ask the students to write me a letter
criticising or making complaints or suggestions about anything
connected with the institution. When this is not done, I have them meet
me in the chapel for a heart-to-heart talk about the conduct of the
school. There are no meetings with our students that I enjoy more than
these, and none are more helpful to me in planning for the future.
These meetings, it seems to me, enable me to get at the very heart of
all that concerns the school. Few things help an individual more than
to place responsibility upon him, and to let him know that you trust
him. When I have read of labour troubles between employers and
employees, I have often thought that many strikes and similar
disturbances might be avoided if the employers would cultivate the
habit of getting nearer to their employees, of consulting and advising
with them, and letting them feel that the interests of the two are the
same. Every individual responds to confidence, and this is not more
true of any race than of the Negroes. Let them once understand that you
are unselfishly interested in them, and you can lead them to any
extent.
It was my aim from the first at Tuskegee to not only have the buildings
erected by the students themselves, but to have them make their own
furniture as far as was possible. I now marvel at the patience of the
students while sleeping upon the floor while waiting for some kind of a
bedstead to be constructed, or at their sleeping without any kind of a
mattress while waiting for something that looked like a mattress to be
made.
In the early days we had very few students who had been used to
handling carpenters’ tools, and the bedsteads made by the students then
were very rough and very weak. Not unfrequently when I went into the
students’ rooms in the morning I would find at least two bedsteads
lying about on the floor. The problem of providing mattresses was a
difficult one to solve. We finally mastered this, however, by getting
some cheap cloth and sewing pieces of this together as to make large
bags. These bags we filled with the pine straw—or, as it is sometimes
called, pine needles—which we secured from the forests near by. I am
glad to say that the industry of mattress-making has grown steadily
since then, and has been improved to such an extent that at the present
time it is an important branch of the work which is taught
systematically to a number of our girls, and that the mattresses that
now come out of the mattress-shop at Tuskegee are about as good as
those bought in the average store. For some time after the opening of
the boarding department we had no chairs in the students’ bedrooms or
in the dining rooms. Instead of chairs we used stools which the
students constructed by nailing together three pieces of rough board.
As a rule, the furniture in the students’ rooms during the early days
of the school consisted of a bed, some stools, and sometimes a rough
table made by the students. The plan of having the students make the
furniture is still followed, but the number of pieces in a room has
been increased, and the workmanship has so improved that little fault
can be found with the articles now. One thing that I have always
insisted upon at Tuskegee is that everywhere there should be absolute
cleanliness. Over and over again the students were reminded in those
first years—and are reminded now—that people would excuse us for our
poverty, for our lack of comforts and conveniences, but that they would
not excuse us for dirt.
Another thing that has been insisted upon at the school is the use of
the tooth-brush. “The gospel of the tooth-brush,” as General Armstrong
used to call it, is part of our creed at Tuskegee. No student is