Chapter XIII. Two Thousand Miles For A Five-Minute Speech

by Booker T. Washington

　　Soon after the opening of our boarding department, quite a numberof students who evidently were worthy, but who were so poor thatthey did not have any money to pay even the small charges at theschool, began applying for admission. This class was composed ofboth men and women. It was a great trial to refuse admission tothese applicants, and in 1884 we established a night-school toaccommodate a few of them.The night-school was organized on a plan similar to the one whichI had helped to establish at Hampton. At first it was composed ofabout a dozen students. They were admitted to the night-schoolonly when they had no money with which to pay any part of theirboard in the regular day-school. It was further required thatthey must work for ten hours during the day at some trade orindustry, and study academic branches for two hours during theevening. This was the requirement for the first one or two yearsof their stay. They were to be paid something above the cost oftheir board, with the understanding that all of their earnings,except a very small part, were to be reserved in the school'streasury, to be used for paying their board in the regularday-school after they had entered that department. Thenight-school, started in this manner, has grown until there areat present four hundred and fifty-seven students enrolled in italone.There could hardly be a more severe test of a student's worththan this branch of the Institute's worth. It is largely becauseit furnishes such a good opportunity to test the backbone of astudent that I place such high value upon our night-school. Anyone who is willing to work ten hours a day at the brick-yard, orin the laundry, through one or two years, in order that he or shemay have the privilege of studying academic branches for twohours in the evening, has enough bottom to warrant being furthereducated.After the student has left the night-school he enters theday-school, where he takes academic branches four days in a week,and works at his trade two days. Besides this he usually works athis trade during the three summer months. As a rule, after astudent has succeeded in going through the night-school test, hefinds a way to finish the regular course in industrial andacademic training. No student, no matter how much money he may beable to command, is permitted to go through school without doingmanual labour. In fact, the industrial work is now as popular asthe academic branches. Some of the most successful men and womenwho have graduated from the institution obtained their start inthe night-school.While a great deal of stress is laid upon the industrial side ofthe work at Tuskegee, we do not neglect or overlook in any degreethe religious and spiritual side. The school is strictlyundenominational, but it is thoroughly Christian, and thespiritual training or the students is not neglected. Ourpreaching service, prayer-meetings, Sunday-school, ChristianEndeavour Society, Young Men's Christian Association, and variousmissionary organizations, testify to this.In 1885, Miss Olivia Davidson, to whom I have already referred asbeing largely responsible for the success of the school duringits early history, and I were married. During our married lifeshe continued to divide her time and strength between our homeand the work for the school. She not only continued to work inthe school at Tuskegee, but also kept up her habit of going Northto secure funds. In 1889 she died, after four years of happymarried life and eight years of hard and happy work for theschool. She literally wore herself out in her never ceasingefforts in behalf of the work that she so dearly loved. Duringour married life there were born to us two bright, beautifulboys, 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 publicspeaking. In answer I would say that I never planned to give anylarge part of my life to speaking in public. I have always hadmore of an ambition to do things than merely to talk about doingthem. It seems that when I went North with General Armstrong tospeak 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 andheard me speak. A few days afterward he sent me an invitation todeliver an address at the next meeting of the EducationalAssociation. This meeting was to be held in Madison, Wis. Iaccepted the invitation. This was, in a sense, the beginning ofmy public-speaking career.On the evening that I spoke before the Association there musthave been not far from four thousand persons present. Without myknowing it, there were a large number of people present fromAlabama, and some from the town of Tuskegee. These white peopleafterward frankly told me that they went to this meetingexpecting to hear the South roundly abused, but were pleasantlysurprised to find that there was no word of abuse in my address.On the contrary, the South was given credit for all thepraiseworthy things that it had done. A white lady who wasteacher in a college in Tuskegee wrote back to the local paperthat she was gratified, as well as surprised, to note the creditwhich I gave the white people of Tuskegee for their help ingetting the school started. This address at Madison was the firstthat I had delivered that in any large measure dealt with thegeneral problem of the races. Those who heard it seemed to bepleased with what I said and with the general position that Itook.When I first came to Tuskegee, I determined that I would make itmy home, that I would take as much pride in the right actions ofthe people of the town as any white man could do, and that Iwould, at the same time, deplore the wrong-doing of the people asmuch as any white man. I determined never to say anything in apublic address in the North that I would not be willing to say inthe South. I early learned that it is a hard matter to convert anindividual by abusing him, and that this is more oftenaccomplished by giving credit for all the praiseworthy actionsperformed than by calling attention alone to all the evil done.While pursuing this policy I have not failed, at the proper timeand in the proper manner, to call attention, in no uncertainterms, to the wrongs which any part of the South has been guiltyof. I have found that there is a large element in the South thatis quick to respond to straightforward, honest criticism of anywrong policy. As a rule, the place to criticise the South, whencriticism is necessary, is in the South--not in Boston. A Bostonman who came to Alabama to criticise Boston would not effect somuch good, I think, as one who had his word of criticism to sayin Boston.In this address at Madison I took the ground that the policy tobe pursued with references to the races was, by every honourablemeans, to bring them together and to encourage the cultivation offriendly relations, instead of doing that which would embitter. Ifurther contended that, in relation to his vote, the Negro shouldmore and more consider the interests of the community in which helived, rather than seek alone to please some one who lived athousand miles away from him and from his interests.In this address I said that the whole future of the Negro restedlargely upon the question as to whether or not he should makehimself, through his skill, intelligence, and character, of suchundeniable value to the community in which he lived that thecommunity could not dispense with his presence. I said that anyindividual who learned to do something better than anybodyelse--learned to do a common thing in an uncommon manner--hadsolved his problem, regardless of the colour of his skin, andthat in proportion as the Negro learned to produce what otherpeople wanted and must have, in the same proportion would he berespected.I spoke of an instance where one of our graduates had producedtwo hundred and sixty-six bushels of sweet potatoes from an acreof ground, in a community where the average production had beenonly forty-nine bushels to the acre. He had been able to do thisby reason of his knowledge of the chemistry of the soil and byhis knowledge of improved methods of agriculture. The whitefarmers in the neighbourhood respected him, and came to him forideas regarding the raising of sweet potatoes. These whitefarmers honoured and respected him because he, by his skill andknowledge, had added something to the wealth and the comfort ofthe community in which he lived. I explained that my theory ofeducation for the Negro would not, for example, confine him forall time to farm life--to the production of the best and the mostsweet potatoes--but that, if he succeeded in this line ofindustry, he could lay the foundations upon which his childrenand grand-children could grow to higher and more important thingsin life.Such, in brief, were some of the views I advocated in this firstaddress dealing with the broad question of the relations of thetwo races, and since that time I have not found any reason forchanging my views on any important point.In my early life I used to cherish a feeling of ill will towardany one who spoke in bitter terms against the Negro, or whoadvocated measures that tended to oppress the black man or takefrom him opportunities for growth in the most complete manner.Now, whenever I hear any one advocating measures that are meantto curtail the development of another, I pity the individual whowould do this. I know that the one who makes this mistake does sobecause of his own lack of opportunity for the highest kind ofgrowth. I pity him because I know that he is trying to stop theprogress of the world, and because I know that in time thedevelopment and the ceaseless advance of humanity will make himashamed of his weak and narrow position. One might as well try tostop the progress of a mighty railroad train by throwing his bodyacross the track, as to try to stop the growth of the world inthe direction of giving mankind more intelligence, more culture,more skill, more liberty, and in the direction of extending moresympathy and more brotherly kindness.The address which I delivered at Madison, before the NationalEducational Association, gave me a rather wide introduction inthe North, and soon after that opportunities began offeringthemselves for me to address audiences there.I was anxious, however, that the way might also be opened for meto speak directly to a representative Southern white audience. Apartial opportunity of this kind, one that seemed to me mightserve as an entering wedge, presented itself in 1893, when theinternational meeting of Christian Workers was held at Atlanta,Ga. When this invitation came to me, I had engagements in Bostonthat 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 meinto Atlanta about thirty minutes before my address was to bedelivered, and that I could remain in that city before takinganother train for Boston. My invitation to speak in Atlantastipulated that I was to confine my address to five minutes. Thequestion, then, was whether or not I could put enough into afive-minute address to make it worth while for me to make such atrip.I knew that the audience would be largely composed of the mostinfluential class of white men and women, and that it would be arare opportunity for me to let them know what we were trying todo at Tuskegee, as well as to speak to them about the relationsof the races. So I decided to make the trip. I spoke for fiveminutes to an audience of two thousand people, composed mostly ofSouthern and Northern whites. What I said seemed to be receivedwith favour and enthusiasm. The Atlanta papers of the next daycommented in friendly terms on my address, and a good deal wassaid about it in different parts of the country. I felt that Ihad in some degree accomplished my object--that of getting ahearing from the dominant class of the South.The demands made upon me for public addresses continued toincrease, coming in about equal numbers from my own people andfrom Northern whites. I gave as much time to these addresses as Icould spare from the immediate work at Tuskegee. Most of theaddresses in the North were made for the direct purpose ofgetting funds with which to support the school. Those deliveredbefore the coloured people had for their main object theimpressing upon them the importance of industrial and technicaleducation in addition to academic and religious training.I now come to that one of the incidents in my life which seems tohave excited the greatest amount of interest, and which perhapswent further than anything else in giving me a reputation that ina sense might be called National. I refer to the address which Idelivered at the opening of the Atlanta Cotton states andInternational Exposition, at Atlanta, Ga., September 18, 1895.So much has been said and written about this incident, and somany questions have been asked me concerning the address, thatperhaps I may be excused for taking up the matter with somedetail. The five-minute address in Atlanta, which I came fromBoston to deliver, was possibly the prime cause for anopportunity being given me to make the second address there. Inthe spring of 1895 I received a telegram from prominent citizensin Atlanta asking me to accompany a committee from that city toWashington for the purpose of appearing before a committee ofCongress in the interest of securing Government help for theExposition. The committee was composed of about twenty-five ofthe most prominent and most influential white men of Georgia. Allthe members of this committee were white men except Bishop Grant,Bishop Gaines, and myself. The Mayor and several other city andstate officials spoke before the committee. They were followed bythe two coloured bishops. My name was the last on the list ofspeakers. I had never before appeared before such a committee,nor had I ever delivered any address in the capital of theNation. I had many misgivings as to what I ought to say, and asto the impression that my address would make. While I cannotrecall in detail what I said, I remember that I tried to impressupon the committee, with all the earnestness and plainness of anylanguage that I could command, that if Congress wanted to dosomething which would assist in ridding the South of the racequestion and making friends between the two races, it should, inevery proper way, encourage the material and intellectual growthof both races. I said that the Atlanta Exposition would presentan opportunity for both races to show what advance they had madesince freedom, and would at the same time afford encouragement tothem to make still greater progress.I tried to emphasize the fact that while the Negro should not bedeprived by unfair means of the franchise, political agitationalone would not save him, and that back of the ballot he musthave property, industry, skill, economy, intelligence, andcharacter, and that no race without these elements couldpermanently succeed. I said that in granting the appropriationCongress could do something that would prove to be of real andlasting value to both races, and that it was the first greatopportunity of the kind that had been presented since the closeof the Civil War.I spoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, and was surprised at theclose of my address to receive the hearty congratulations of theGeorgia committee and of the members of Congress who werepresent. The Committee was unanimous in making a favourablereport, and in a few days the bill passed Congress. With thepassing of this bill the success of the Atlanta Exposition wasassured.Soon after this trip to Washington the directors of theExposition decided that it would be a fitting recognition of thecoloured race to erect a large and attractive building whichshould be devoted wholly to showing the progress of the Negrosince freedom. It was further decided to have the buildingdesigned and erected wholly by Negro mechanics. This plan wascarried out. In design, beauty, and general finish the NegroBuilding was equal to the others on the grounds.After it was decided to have a separate Negro exhibit, thequestion arose as to who should take care of it. The officials ofthe Exposition were anxious that I should assume thisresponsibility, but I declined to do so, on the plea that thework at Tuskegee at that time demanded my time and strength.Largely at my suggestion, Mr. I. Garland Penn, of Lynchburg, Va.,was selected to be at the head of the Negro department. I gavehim all the aid that I could. The Negro exhibit, as a whole, waslarge and creditable. The two exhibits in this department whichattracted the greatest amount of attention were those from theHampton Institute and the Tuskegee Institute. The people whoseemed to be the most surprised, as well as pleased, at what theysaw in the Negro Building were the Southern white people.As the day for the opening of the Exposition drew near, the Boardof Directors began preparing the programme for the openingexercises. In the discussion from day to day of the variousfeatures of this programme, the question came up as to theadvisability of putting a member of the Negro race on for one ofthe opening addresses, since the Negroes had been asked to takesuch a prominent part in the Exposition. It was argued, further,that such recognition would mark the good feeling prevailingbetween the two races. Of course there were those who wereopposed to any such recognition of the rights of the Negro, butthe Board of Directors, composed of men who represented the bestand most progressive element in the South, had their way, andvoted to invite a black man to speak on the opening day. The nextthing was to decide upon the person who was thus to represent theNegro race. After the question had been canvassed for severaldays, the directors voted unanimously to ask me to deliver one ofthe opening-day addresses, and in a few days after that Ireceived the official invitation.The receiving of this invitation brought to me a sense ofresponsibility that it would be hard for any one not placed in myposition to appreciate. What were my feelings when thisinvitation came to me? I remembered that I had been a slave; thatmy early years had been spent in the lowest depths of poverty andignorance, and that I had had little opportunity to prepare mefor such a responsibility as this. It was only a few years beforethat time that any white man in the audience might have claimedme as his slave; and it was easily possible that some of myformer owners might be present to hear me speak.I knew, too, that this was the first time in the entire historyof the Negro that a member of my race had been asked to speakfrom the same platform with white Southern men and women on anyimportant National occasion. I was asked now to speak to anaudience composed of the wealth and culture of the white South,the representatives of my former masters. I knew, too, that whilethe greater part of my audience would be composed of Southernpeople, yet there would be present a large number of Northernwhites, 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 thebottom of my heart to be true and right. When the invitation cameto me, there was not one word of intimation as to what I shouldsay or as to what I should omit. In this I felt that the Board ofDirectors had paid a tribute to me. They knew that by onesentence I could have blasted, in a large degree, the success ofthe Exposition. I was also painfully conscious of the fact that,while I must be true to my own race in my utterances, I had it inmy power to make such an ill-timed address as would result inpreventing any similar invitation being extended to a black managain for years to come. I was equally determined to be true tothe North, as well as to the best element of the white South, inwhat I had to say.The papers, North and South, had taken up the discussion of mycoming speech, and as the time for it drew near this discussionbecame more and more widespread. Not a few of the Southern whitepapers were unfriendly to the idea of my speaking. From my ownrace I received many suggestions as to what I ought to say. Iprepared myself as best I could for the address, but as theeighteenth of September drew nearer, the heavier my heart became,and the more I feared that my effort would prove a failure and adisappointment.The invitation had come at a time when I was very busy with myschool work, as it was the beginning of our school year. Afterpreparing my address, I went through it, as I usually do withthose utterances which I consider particularly important, withMrs. Washington, and she approved of what I intended to say. Onthe sixteenth of September, the day before I was to start forAtlanta, so many of the Tuskegee teachers expressed a desire tohear my address that I consented to read it to them in a body.When I had done so, and had heard their criticisms and comments,I felt somewhat relieved, since they seemed to think well of whatI had to say.On the morning of September 17, together with Mrs. Washington andmy three children, I started for Atlanta. I felt a good deal as Isuppose a man feels when he is on his way to the gallows. Inpassing through the town of Tuskegee I met a white farmer wholived some distance out in the country. In a jesting manner thisman said: "Washington, you have spoken before the Northern whitepeople, the Negroes in the South, and to us country white peoplein the South; but Atlanta, to-morrow, you will have before youthe Northern whites, the Southern whites, and the Negroes alltogether. I am afraid that you have got yourself in a tightplace." This farmer diagnosed the situation correctly, but hisfrank words did not add anything to my comfort.In the course of the journey from Tuskegee to Atlanta bothcoloured and white people came to the train to point me out, anddiscussed with perfect freedom, in my hearings, what was going totake 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 inthat city was an expression something like this, from an oldcoloured man near by: "Dat's de man of my race what's gwine tomake a speech at de Exposition to-morrow. I'se sho' gwine to hearhim."Atlanta was literally packed, at the time, with people from allparts of the country, and with representatives of foreigngovernments, as well as with military and civic organizations.The afternoon papers had forecasts of the next day's proceedingsin flaring headlines. All this tended to add to my burden. I didnot sleep much that night. The next morning, before day, I wentcarefully over what I planned to say. I also kneeled down andasked God's blessing upon my effort. Right here, perhaps, I oughtto add that I make it a rule never to go before an audience, onany occasion, without asking the blessing of God upon what I wantto say.I always make it a rule to make especial preparation for eachseparate address. No two audiences are exactly alike. It is myaim to reach and talk to the heart of each individual audience,taking it into my confidence very much as I would a person. WhenI am speaking to an audience, I care little for how what I amsaying is going to sound in the newspapers, or to anotheraudience, or to an individual. At the time, the audience beforeme absorbs all my sympathy, thought, and energy.Early in the morning a committee called to escort me to my placein 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 theExposition officials seemed to go out of their way to see thatall of the coloured people in the procession were properly placedand properly treated. The procession was about three hours inreaching the Exposition grounds, and during all of this time thesun was shining down upon us disagreeably hot. When we reachedthe grounds, the heat, together with my nervous anxiety, made mefeel as if I were about ready to collapse, and to feel that myaddress was not going to be a success. When I entered theaudience-room, I found it packed with humanity from bottom totop, and there were thousands outside who could not get in.The room was very large, and well suited to public speaking. WhenI entered the room, there were vigorous cheers from the colouredportion of the audience, and faint cheers from some of the whitepeople. I had been told, while I had been in Atlanta, that whilemany white people were going to be present to hear me speak,simply out of curiosity, and that others who would be presentwould be in full sympathy with me, there was a still largerelement of the audience which would consist of those who weregoing to be present for the purpose of hearing me make a fool ofmyself, or, at least, of hearing me say some foolish thing sothat 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 mypersonal friend, Mr. William H. Baldwin, Jr. was at the timeGeneral Manager of the Southern Railroad, and happened to be inAtlanta on that day. He was so nervous about the kind ofreception that I would have, and the effect that my speech wouldproduce, that he could not persuade himself to go into thebuilding, but walked back and forth in the grounds outside untilthe opening exercises were over.