Chapter II. Boyhood Days

by Booker T. Washington

　　After the coming of freedom there were two points upon whichpractically all the people on our place were agreed, and I foundthat this was generally true throughout the South: that they mustchange their names, and that they must leave the old plantationfor at least a few days or weeks in order that they might reallyfeel sure that they were free.In some way a feeling got among the coloured people that it wasfar from proper for them to bear the surname of their formerowners, and a great many of them took other surnames. This wasone of the first signs of freedom. When they were slaves, acoloured person was simply called "John" or "Susan." There wasseldom 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'sJohn." But there was a feeling that "John Hatcher" or "Hatcher'sJohn" was not the proper title by which to denote a freeman; andso in many cases "John Hatcher" was changed to "John S. Lincoln"or "John S. Sherman," the initial "S" standing for no name, itbeing simply a part of what the coloured man proudly called his"entitles."As I have stated, most of the coloured people left the oldplantation for a short while at least, so as to be sure, itseemed, that they could leave and try their freedom on to see howit felt. After they had remained away for a while, many of theolder slaves, especially, returned to their old homes and madesome kind of contract with their former owners by which theyremained on the estate.My mother's husband, who was the stepfather of my brother Johnand myself, did not belong to the same owners as did my mother.In fact, he seldom came to our plantation. I remember seeing histhere perhaps once a year, that being about Christmas time. Insome way, during the war, by running away and following theFederal soldiers, it seems, he found his way into the new stateof West Virginia. As soon as freedom was declared, he sent for mymother to come to the Kanawha Valley, in West Virginia. At thattime a journey from Virginia over the mountains to West Virginiawas rather a tedious and in some cases a painful undertaking.What little clothing and few household goods we had were placedin a cart, but the children walked the greater portion of thedistance, which was several hundred miles.I do not think any of us ever had been very far from theplantation, and the taking of a long journey into another statewas quite an event. The parting from our former owners and themembers of our own race on the plantation was a serious occasion.From the time of our parting till their death we kept up acorrespondence with the older members of the family, and in lateryears we have kept in touch with those who were the youngermembers. We were several weeks making the trip, and most of thetime we slept in the open air and did our cooking over a log fireout-of-doors. One night I recall that we camped near an abandonedlog cabin, and my mother decided to build a fire in that forcooking, and afterward to make a "pallet" on the floor for oursleeping. Just as the fire had gotten well started a large blacksnake fully a yard and a half long dropped down the chimney andran 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 ofthe state.At that time salt-mining was the great industry in that part ofWest Virginia, and the little town of Malden was right in themidst of the salt-furnaces. My stepfather had already secured ajob at a salt-furnace, and he had also secured a little cabin forus to live in. Our new house was no better than the one we hadleft on the old plantation in Virginia. In fact, in one respectit was worse. Notwithstanding the poor condition of ourplantation cabin, we were at all times sure of pure air. Our newhome was in the midst of a cluster of cabins crowded closelytogether, and as there were no sanitary regulations, the filthabout the cabins was often intolerable. Some of our neighbourswere coloured people, and some were the poorest and most ignorantand degraded white people. It was a motley mixture. Drinking,gambling, quarrels, fights, and shockingly immoral practices werefrequent. All who lived in the little town were in one way oranother connected with the salt business. Though I was a merechild, my stepfather put me and my brother at work in one of thefurnaces. Often I began work as early as four o'clock in themorning.The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowledge waswhile working in this salt-furnace. Each salt-packer had hisbarrels marked with a certain number. The number allotted to mystepfather was "18." At the close of the day's work the boss ofthe packers would come around and put "18" on each of ourbarrels, and I soon learned to recognize that figure wherever Isaw it, and after a while got to the point where I could makethat figure, though I knew nothing about any other figures orletters.From the time that I can remember having any thoughts aboutanything, I recall that I had an intense longing to learn toread. I determined, when quite a small child, that, if Iaccomplished nothing else in life, I would in some way get enougheducation to enable me to read common books and newspapers. Soonafter we got settled in some manner in our new cabin in WestVirginia, I induced my mother to get hold of a book for me. Howor where she got it I do not know, but in some way she procuredan old copy of Webster's "blue-back" spelling-book, whichcontained the alphabet, followed by such meaningless words as"ab," "ba," "ca," "da." I began at once to devour this book, andI think that it was the first one I ever had in my hands. I hadlearned from somebody that the way to begin to read was to learnthe alphabet, so I tried in all the ways I could think of tolearn it,--all of course without a teacher, for I could find noone to teach me. At that time there was not a single member of myrace anywhere near us who could read, and I was too timid toapproach any of the white people. In some way, within a fewweeks, I mastered the greater portion of the alphabet. In all myefforts to learn to read my mother shared fully my ambition, andsympathized with me and aided me in every way that she could.Though she was totally ignorant, she had high ambitions for herchildren, and a large fund of good, hard, common sense, whichseemed to enable her to meet and master every situation. If Ihave done anything in life worth attention, I feel sure that Iinherited the disposition from my mother.In the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, ayoung coloured boy who had learned to read in the state of Ohiocame to Malden. As soon as the coloured people found out that hecould read, a newspaper was secured, and at the close of nearlyevery day's work this young man would be surrounded by a group ofmen and women who were anxious to hear him read the newscontained in the papers. How I used to envy this man! He seemedto me to be the one young man in all the world who ought to besatisfied with his attainments.About this time the question of having some kind of a schoolopened for the coloured children in the village began to bediscussed by members of the race. As it would be the first schoolfor Negro children that had ever been opened in that part ofVirginia, it was, of course, to be a great event, and thediscussion excited the wildest interest. The most perplexingquestion was where to find a teacher. The young man from Ohio whohad learned to read the papers was considered, but his age wasagainst him. In the midst of the discussion about a teacher,another young coloured man from Ohio, who had been a soldier, insome way found his way into town. It was soon learned that hepossessed considerable education, and he was engaged by thecoloured people to teach their first school. As yet no freeschools had been started for coloured people in that section,hence each family agreed to pay a certain amount per month, withthe understanding that the teacher was to "board 'round"--thatis, spend a day with each family. This was not bad for theteacher, for each family tried to provide the very best on theday the teacher was to be its guest. I recall that I lookedforward with an anxious appetite to the "teacher's day" at ourlittle cabin.This experience of a whole race beginning to go to school for thefirst time, presents one of the most interesting studies that hasever occurred in connection with the development of any race. Fewpeople who were not right in the midst of the scenes can form anyexact idea of the intense desire which the people of my raceshowed for an education. As I have stated, it was a whole racetrying to go to school. Few were too young, and none too old, tomake the attempt to learn. As fast as any kind of teachers couldbe secured, not only were day-schools filled, but night-schoolsas well. The great ambition of the older people was to try tolearn to read the Bible before they died. With this end in viewmen and women who were fifty or seventy-five years old wouldoften be found in the night-school. Some day-schools were formedsoon after freedom, but the principal book studied in theSunday-school was the spelling-book. Day-school, night-school,Sunday-school, were always crowded, and often many had to beturned away for want of room.The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however, broughtto me one of the keenest disappointments that I ever experienced.I had been working in a salt-furnace for several months, and mystepfather had discovered that I had a financial value, and so,when the school opened, he decided that he could not spare mefrom my work. This decision seemed to cloud my every ambition.The disappointment was made all the more severe by reason of thefact that my place of work was where I could see the happychildren passing to and from school mornings and afternoons.Despite this disappointment, however, I determined that I wouldlearn something, anyway. I applied myself with greaterearnestness than ever to the mastering of what was in the"blue-back" speller.My mother sympathized with me in my disappointment, and sought tocomfort me in all the ways she could, and to help me find a wayto learn. After a while I succeeded in making arrangements withthe teacher to give me some lessons at night, after the day'swork was done. These night lessons were so welcome that I think Ilearned more at night than the other children did during the day.My own experiences in the night-school gave me faith in thenight-school idea, with which, in after years, I had to do bothat Hampton and Tuskegee. But my boyish heart was still set upongoing to the day-school, and I let no opportunity slip to push mycase. Finally I won, and was permitted to go to the school in theday for a few months, with the understanding that I was to riseearly in the morning and work in the furnace till nine o'clock,and return immediately after school closed in the afternoon forat least two more hours of work.The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, and as I hadto work till nine o'clock, and the school opened at nine, I foundmyself in a difficulty. School would always be begun before Ireached it, and sometimes my class had recited. To get aroundthis difficulty I yielded to a temptation for which most people,I suppose, will condemn me; but since it is a fact, I might aswell state it. I have great faith in the power and influence offacts. It is seldom that anything is permanently gained byholding back a fact. There was a large clock in a little officein the furnace. This clock, of course, all the hundred or moreworkmen depended upon to regulate their hours of beginning andending the day's work. I got the idea that the way for me toreach school on time was to move the clock hands from half-pasteight up to the nine o'clock mark. This I found myself doingmorning after morning, till the furnace "boss" discovered thatsomething was wrong, and locked the clock in a case. I did notmean to inconvenience anybody. I simply meant to reach thatschoolhouse in time.When, however, I found myself at the school for the first time, Ialso found myself confronted with two other difficulties. In thefirst place, I found that all the other children wore hats orcaps on their heads, and I had neither hat nor cap. In fact, I donot remember that up to the time of going to school I had everworn any kind of covering upon my head, nor do I recall thateither I or anybody else had even thought anything about the needof covering for my head. But, of course, when I saw how all theother boys were dressed, I began to feel quite uncomfortable. Asusual, I put the case before my mother, and she explained to methat she had no money with which to buy a "store hat," which wasa rather new institution at that time among the members of myrace 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 sewedthem together, and I was soon the proud possessor of my firstcap.The lesson that my mother taught me in this has always remainedwith me, and I have tried as best as I could to teach it toothers. I have always felt proud, whenever I think of theincident, that my mother had strength of character enough not tobe led into the temptation of seeming to be that which she wasnot--of trying to impress my schoolmates and others with the factthat she was able to buy me a "store hat" when she was not. Ihave always felt proud that she refused to go into debt for thatwhich she did not have the money to pay for. Since that time Ihave owned many kinds of caps and hats, but never one of which Ihave felt so proud as of the cap made of the two pieces of clothsewed together by my mother. I have noted the fact, but withoutsatisfaction, I need not add, that several of the boys who begantheir careers with "store hats" and who were my schoolmates andused to join in the sport that was made of me because I had onlya "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 Aname. From the time when I could remember anything, I had beencalled simply "Booker." Before going to school it had neveroccurred to me that it was needful or appropriate to have anadditional name. When I heard the schoolroll called, I noticedthat all of the children had at least two names, and some of themindulged in what seemed to me the extravagance of having three. Iwas in deep perplexity, because I knew that the teacher woulddemand of me at least two names, and I had only one. By the timethe occasion came for the enrolling of my name, an idea occurredto me which I thought would make me equal to the situation; andso, when the teacher asked me what my full name was, I calmlytold him "Booker Washington," as if I had been called by thatname all my life; and by that name I have since been known. Laterin my life I found that my mother had given me the name of"Booker Taliaferro" soon after I was born, but in some way thatpart of my name seemed to disappear and for a long while wasforgotten, but as soon as I found out about it I revived it, andmade my full name "Booker Taliaferro Washington." I think thereare not many men in our country who have had the privilege ofnaming themselves in the way that I have.More than once I have tried to picture myself in the position ofa boy or man with an honoured and distinguished ancestry which Icould trace back through a period of hundreds of years, and whohad not only inherited a name, but fortune and a proud familyhomestead; and yet I have sometimes had the feeling that if I hadinherited these, and had been a member of a more popular race, Ishould have been inclined to yield to the temptation of dependingupon my ancestry and my colour to do that for me which I shoulddo for myself. Years ago I resolved that because I had noancestry myself I would leave a record of which my children wouldbe proud, and which might encourage them to still higher effort.The world should not pass judgment upon the Negro, and especiallythe Negro youth, too quickly or too harshly. The Negro boy hasobstacles, discouragements, and temptations to battle with thatare little know to those not situated as he is. When a white boyundertakes a task, it is taken for granted that he will succeed.On the other hand, people are usually surprised if the Negro boydoes not fail. In a word, the Negro youth starts out with thepresumption against him.The influence of ancestry, however, is important in helpingforward any individual or race, if too much reliance is notplaced upon it. Those who constantly direct attention to theNegro youth's moral weaknesses, and compare his advancement withthat of white youths, do not consider the influence of thememories which cling about the old family homesteads. I have noidea, as I have stated elsewhere, who my grandmother was. I have,or have had, uncles and aunts and cousins, but I have noknowledge as to where most of them are. My case will illustratethat of hundreds of thousands of black people in every part ofour 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 valuein helping him to resist temptations. The fact that theindividual has behind and surrounding him proud family historyand connection serves as a stimulus to help him to overcomeobstacles when striving for success.The time that I was permitted to attend school during the day wasshort, and my attendance was irregular. It was not long before Ihad to stop attending day-school altogether, and devote all of mytime again to work. I resorted to the night-school again. Infact, the greater part of the education I secured in my boyhoodwas gathered through the night-school after my day's work wasdone. I had difficulty often in securing a satisfactory teacher.Sometimes, after I had secured some one to teach me at night, Iwould find, much to my disappointment, that the teacher knew butlittle more than I did. Often I would have to walk several milesat night in order to recite my night-school lessons. There wasnever a time in my youth, no matter how dark and discouraging thedays might be, when one resolve did not continually remain withme, and that was a determination to secure an education at anycost.Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother adopted into ourfamily, notwithstanding our poverty, an orphan boy, to whomafterward we gave the name of James B. Washington. He has eversince remained a member of the family.After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work wassecured for me in a coal-mine which was operated mainly for thepurpose of securing fuel for the salt-furnace. Work in thecoal-mine I always dreaded. One reason for this was that any onewho worked in a coal-mine was always unclean, at least while atwork, and it was a very hard job to get one's skin clean afterthe day's work was over. Then it was fully a mile from theopening of the coal-mine to the face of the coal, and all, ofcourse, was in the blackest darkness. I do not believe that oneever experiences anywhere else such darkness as he does in acoal-mine. The mine was divided into a large number of different"rooms" or departments, and, as I never was able to learn thelocation of all these "rooms," I many times found myself lost inthe mine. To add to the horror of being lost, sometimes my lightwould go out, and then, if I did not happen to have a match, Iwould wander about in the darkness until by chance I found someone to give me a light. The work was not only hard, but it wasdangerous. There was always the danger of being blown to piecesby a premature explosion of powder, or of being crushed byfalling slate. Accidents from one or the other of these causeswere frequently occurring, and this kept me in constant fear.Many children of the tenderest years were compelled then, as isnow true I fear, in most coal-mining districts, to spend a largepart of their lives in these coal-mines, with little opportunityto get an education; and, what is worse, I have often noted that,as a rule, young boys who begin life in a coal-mine are oftenphysically and mentally dwarfed. They soon lose ambition to doanything else than to continue as a coal-miner.In those days, and later as a young man, I used to try to picturein my imagination the feelings and ambitions of a white boy withabsolutely no limit placed upon his aspirations and activities. Iused to envy the white boy who had no obstacles placed in the wayof his becoming a Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President byreason of the accident of his birth or race. I used to picturethe way that I would act under such circumstances; how I wouldbegin at the bottom and keep rising until I reached the highestround of success.In later years, I confess that I do not envy the white boy as Ionce did. I have learned that success is to be measured not somuch by the position that one has reached in life as by theobstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed. Lookedat from this standpoint, I almost reached the conclusion thatoften the Negro boy's birth and connection with an unpopular raceis an advantage, so far as real life is concerned. With fewexceptions, the Negro youth must work harder and must perform histasks even better than a white youth in order to securerecognition. But out of the hard and unusual struggle throughwhich he is compelled to pass, he gets a strength, a confidence,that one misses whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reasonof birth and race.From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a member ofthe Negro race, than be able to claim membership with the mostfavoured of any other race. I have always been made sad when Ihave heard members of any race claiming rights or privileges, orcertain badges of distinction, on the ground simply that theywere members of this or that race, regardless of their ownindividual worth or attainments. I have been made to feel sad forsuch persons because I am conscious of the fact that mereconnection with what is known as a superior race will notpermanently carry an individual forward unless he has individualworth, and mere connection with what is regarded as an inferiorrace will not finally hold an individual back if he possessesintrinsic, individual merit. Every persecuted individual and raceshould get much consolation out of the great human law, which isuniversal and eternal, that merit, no matter under what skinfound, is, in the long run, recognized and rewarded. This I havesaid here, not to call attention to myself as an individual, butto the race to which I am proud to belong.