Childhood Days

After 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.

After freedom came, nearly everyone on our plantation agreed on two things. I found that this was generally true throughout the South. They believed they had to change their names. They also had to leave the old plantation for at least a few days or weeks to feel truly sure 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 freedom. When they were slaves, a coloured person was simply 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.”

Somehow, a feeling spread among Black people that they should not keep their former owners’ surnames. Many took different surnames. This was one of the first signs of freedom. Under slavery, a Black person was simply called “John” or “Susan.” There was seldom a need for more than one name. If “John” or “Susan” belonged to a white man named “Hatcher,” he was sometimes called “John Hatcher.” Just as often, he was called “Hatcher’s John.” But people felt that “John Hatcher” or “Hatcher’s John” was not a proper name for a free man. So in many cases, “John Hatcher” became “John S. Lincoln” or “John S. Sherman.” The initial “S” did not stand for a name. It was simply part of what the Black 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.

As I have said, most Black people left the old plantation for at least a short time. It seemed they wanted to make sure they could leave and to try out their freedom. After being away for a while, many formerly enslaved people returned to their old homes, especially the older ones. They made some kind of agreement with their former owners to stay 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 him there perhaps once a year, that being about Christmas time. In some way, during 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 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 distance, which was several hundred miles.

My mother’s husband was the stepfather of my brother John and me. He was owned by different people than my mother. In fact, he rarely came to our plantation. I remember seeing him there perhaps once a year, around Christmas. During the war, it seems, he somehow reached the new state of West Virginia by running away and following the Federal soldiers. As soon as freedom was declared, he sent for my mother to join him in the Kanawha Valley, in West Virginia. At that time, traveling over the mountains from Virginia to West Virginia was a long and sometimes painful journey. We put our few clothes and household goods in a cart. But the children walked most of the way, a distance of 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 plantation 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.

I do not think any of us had ever been very far from the plantation. A long journey into another state was quite an event. Saying goodbye to our former owners and the members of our own race on the plantation was a serious occasion. After we left, we kept writing to the older members of the family until they died. In later years, we have kept in touch with the younger members. The trip took several weeks. Most of the time, we slept in the open air and cooked over a log fire outdoors. I remember one night when we camped near an abandoned log cabin. My mother decided to build a fire inside for cooking. Afterward, she planned to make a “pallet” on the floor for us to sleep on. Just as the fire was burning well, a large black snake dropped down the chimney and ran across the floor. It was at least a yard and a half long. Of course, we left the cabin at once. Finally, we reached our destination, a little town called Malden. It 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. Notwithstanding 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 mixture. 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 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.

At that time, salt mining was the main industry in that part of West Virginia. The little town of Malden was right in the middle of the salt furnaces. My stepfather had already found a job at a salt furnace. He had also found a little cabin for us to live in. Our new home was no better than the one we had left on the old plantation in Virginia. In fact, it was worse in one way. Despite the poor condition of our plantation cabin, we could always count on having clean air. Our new home was among a group of cabins crowded close together. There were no sanitation rules, so the filth around the cabins was often unbearable. Some of our neighbors were Black people. Others were among the poorest, most ignorant, and most degraded white people. It was a mixed crowd. Drinking, gambling, arguments, fights, and shockingly immoral behavior were common. Everyone in the little town was connected with the salt business in one way or another. Though I was only a child, my stepfather put my brother and me to work in one of the furnaces. I often started work as early as four o’clock in the morning.

The first thing I ever learned in the way of book knowledge 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.

The first thing I ever learned about reading and writing was while working in this salt furnace. Each salt packer had a number marked on his barrels. My stepfather’s number was “18.” At the end of the workday, the packers’ boss would come around and put “18” on each of our barrels. I soon learned to recognize that number wherever I saw it. After a while, I could write it, though I knew nothing about any other numbers 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 induced 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.

For as long as I can remember having thoughts about anything, I had a deep longing to learn to read. Even as a small child, I made up my mind about this. If I accomplished nothing else in life, I would somehow get enough education to read ordinary books and newspapers. Soon after we had settled as best we could in our new cabin in West Virginia, I persuaded my mother to get me a book. I do not know how or where she got it. But somehow she found an old copy of Webster’s “blue-back” spelling-book. It contained the alphabet, followed by meaningless words such as “ab,” “ba,” “ca,” “da.” I began devouring the book at once, and I think it was the first book I ever held. Someone had told me that learning the alphabet was the first step toward reading. So I tried every way I could think of to learn it. I did all this without a teacher, of course, because I could find no one to teach me. At that time, not a single member of my race anywhere near us could read. I was also too shy to approach any of the white people. Somehow, within a few weeks, I learned most of the alphabet. Throughout my efforts to learn to read, my mother fully shared my ambition. She understood how I felt and helped me in every way she could. Though she had no education at all, she had high ambitions for her children. She also had plenty of sound, practical common sense, which seemed to help her handle and overcome every situation. If I have done anything in life worth attention, I feel sure I inherited the inclination from my mother.

In the midst of my struggles and longing for an education, 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 contained 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.

While I was struggling and longing for an education, a young Black boy came to Malden. He had learned to read in Ohio. As soon as the Black people learned he could read, they got a newspaper. At the end of nearly every workday, men and women gathered around him. They were eager to hear him read the news in the papers. How I envied him! He seemed to me to be the one young man in all the world who should have been satisfied with what he had achieved.

About this time the question of having some kind of a school opened for the coloured children in the village began 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 interest. 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, another 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.

Around this time, Black people in the village began discussing the possibility of opening a school for their children. It would be the first school for Black children ever opened in that part of Virginia. The school would, of course, be a great event, and the discussion stirred tremendous interest. The hardest question was where to find a teacher. They considered the young man from Ohio who had learned to read the newspapers, but his age was against him. While they were discussing a teacher, another young Black man from Ohio somehow found his way into town. He had been a soldier. People soon learned that he was well educated, and the Black community hired him to teach their first school. There were still no free schools for Black people in that area, so each family agreed to pay a certain amount per month. They also agreed that the teacher would “board ’round,” spending a day with each family. This arrangement was not bad for the teacher. Each family tried to serve the very best food on the day the teacher was their guest. I remember looking forward with an eager appetite to “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 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 experience of a whole race going to school for the first time is a remarkable study in a race’s development. Few people who were not there can fully understand how deeply the people of my race wanted an education. As I have said, a whole race was trying to go to school. Few were too young, and no one was too old to try to learn. As soon as teachers of any kind could be found, both day schools and night schools filled up. Older people’s great ambition was to learn to read the Bible before they died. With that goal in mind, men and women aged fifty or seventy-five often attended night school. Some day schools were established soon after freedom, but the main book studied in Sunday school was the spelling book. Day schools, night schools, and Sunday schools were always crowded. Often, many people had to be turned away because there was no room.

The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however, 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 discovered 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 reason of the fact that my place of work was where I could see the happy children passing to and from school mornings and afternoons. Despite this disappointment, however, 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.

The opening of the school in the Kanawha Valley, however, brought me one of the deepest disappointments I ever experienced. I had been working in a salt furnace for several months, and my stepfather had discovered that my work earned money. So, when the school opened, he decided he could not spare me from work. His decision seemed to cast a shadow over all my ambitions. The disappointment was even harder because I could see the happy children passing my workplace on their way to and from school each day. Despite this disappointment, however, I was determined to learn something anyway. I worked harder than ever to master 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 opportunity 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.

My mother shared my disappointment. She tried to comfort me in every way she could and to help me find a way to learn. After a while, I arranged for the teacher to give me lessons at night, after the day’s work was done. I was so glad to have these night lessons that I think I learned more than the other children did during the day. My own experience with night school gave me faith in the idea. In later years, I was involved with night schools at both Hampton and Tuskegee. But as a boy, I still had my heart set on going to school during the day. I missed no chance to argue my case. Finally, I won and was allowed to attend day school for a few months. I had to get up early and work in the furnace until nine o’clock. Then, immediately after school ended, I had to return to work for at least two more hours.

The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace, 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 condemn 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 beginning 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 inconvenience anybody. I simply meant to reach that schoolhouse in time.

The schoolhouse was some distance from the furnace. I had to work until nine o’clock, and school started at nine, so I had a problem. School had always started before I arrived, and sometimes my class had already recited its lessons. To solve this problem, I gave in to a temptation that I suppose most people will condemn me for. But since it is a fact, I might as well tell it. I have great faith in the power and influence of facts. Hiding a fact rarely brings any lasting benefit. There was a large clock in a small office at the furnace. All the hundred or more workers depended on this clock to tell them when to start and end their workday. I got the idea that I could reach school on time by moving the clock hands from eight thirty to nine. I did this morning after morning, until the furnace “boss” discovered that something was wrong and locked the clock in a case. I did not mean to inconvenience anyone. I simply meant to reach that schoolhouse on 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 neither 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 institution 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.

When I first arrived at school, however, I faced two other difficulties. First, all the other children wore hats or caps, and I had neither. In fact, I do not remember ever wearing any kind of head covering before going to school. Nor do I recall that anyone, including me, had even thought I needed one. But when I saw how all the other boys were dressed, I began to feel quite uncomfortable. As usual, I told my mother about the problem. She explained that she had no money to buy a “store hat.” Such hats were fairly new among members of my race at the time. They were considered quite fashionable for young and old alike. But she said she would find a way to help me. So she took two pieces of “homespun” (jeans) and sewed them together. Soon I was the proud owner 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 character enough not to be led into the temptation of seeming to be that which she was not—of trying to impress 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 satisfaction, I need not add, that several of the boys who began their careers with “store hats” and who were my schoolmates 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.

The lesson my mother taught me through this experience has always stayed with me. I have tried my best to teach it to others. Whenever I think of the incident, I feel proud of my mother. She had the strength of character to resist pretending to be someone she was not. She did not try to impress my schoolmates and others by buying me a “store hat” she could not afford. I have always felt proud that she refused to go into debt for something she could not pay for. Since then, I have owned many kinds of caps and hats. But I have never been as proud of any of them as I was of that cap. My mother made it from two pieces of cloth sewn together. I have noticed what became of several of my schoolmates who started out with “store hats.” I need hardly add that it gives me no satisfaction. They used to join in making fun of me because I had only a “homespun” cap. Several of them ended up in prison, while others cannot now afford 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 going to school it had never occurred to me that it was needful or appropriate to have an additional name. When I heard the school-roll called, I noticed that all of the children had at least two names, and some of them indulged 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 privilege of naming themselves in the way that I have.

My second difficulty concerned my name, or rather A name. For as long as I could remember, I had been called simply “Booker.” Before going to school, I had never thought it necessary or proper to have another name. When I heard the school roll called, I noticed that all the children had at least two names. Some even indulged in what seemed to me the extravagance of having three. I was deeply puzzled because I knew the teacher would expect at least two names from me. I had only one. By the time my name was to be recorded, I had an idea that I thought would solve the problem. When the teacher asked for my full name, I calmly told him “Booker Washington,” as if I had been called that all my life. I have been known by that name ever since. Later in life, I learned that my mother had named me “Booker Taliaferro” soon after I was born. But somehow that part of my name seemed to disappear and was forgotten for a long time. As soon as I learned about it, I brought it back and made my full name “Booker Taliaferro Washington.” I think there are not many men in our country who have had the privilege of naming themselves as I have.

More than once I have tried to picture myself in the position of a boy or man with an honoured and distinguished ancestry which I could trace back through a period 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 inherited these, and had been a member of a more popular race, I should have been inclined to yield to the temptation 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.

More than once, I have tried to imagine myself as a boy or man with an honored, distinguished ancestry. I imagined being able to trace my family back hundreds of years. I also imagined inheriting not only a name, but a fortune and a proud family home. Yet I have sometimes felt that if I had inherited these things and belonged to a more popular race, I might have given in to temptation. I might have relied on my ancestry and my race to do for me what I should do for myself. Years ago, because I had no ancestry of my own, I resolved to leave a record my children could be proud of. I hoped it might encourage them to make even greater efforts.

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 temptations to battle with that are little known 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 world should not judge Black people, especially Black youth, too quickly or too harshly. A Black boy must struggle against obstacles, discouragements, and temptations that people in different circumstances know little about. When a white boy takes on a task, people assume he will succeed. On the other hand, people are usually surprised if a Black boy does not fail. In short, a Black youth starts out with people expecting him to fail.

The influence of ancestry, however, is important in helping forward any individual or race, if too much reliance is not placed upon it. Those who constantly direct attention to the Negro youth’s moral weaknesses, and compare 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 behind and surrounding him proud family history and connection serves as a stimulus to help him to overcome obstacles when striving for success.

Ancestry, however, can play an important part in helping an individual or a race progress, if people do not rely on it too much. Some people constantly point to the moral weaknesses of young Black people. They compare the progress of Black youth with that of white youth. But they do not consider the influence of memories associated with old family homes. As I have said elsewhere, I have no idea who my grandmother was. I have, or have had, uncles, aunts, and cousins, but I do not know where most of them are. My case illustrates that of hundreds of thousands of Black people throughout our country. A white boy knows that, if he fails in life, he will disgrace his whole family’s record, stretching back many generations. That knowledge is tremendously valuable in helping him resist temptation. A proud family history and family connections behind and around a person encourage him to overcome obstacles as he strives 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 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 gathered 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 education at any cost.

The time I was allowed to attend school during the day was short, and I could not attend regularly. Before long, I had to stop going to day school altogether and devote all my time to work again. I went back to night school. In fact, I received most of my childhood education at night school, after my day’s work was done. I often had trouble finding a satisfactory teacher. Sometimes, after finding someone to teach me at night, I would discover that the teacher knew little more than I did. This was a great disappointment. I often had to walk several miles at night to recite my night school lessons. No matter how dark and discouraging the days were, I always held on to one resolve throughout my youth. I was determined to get an education 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 member of the family.

Soon after we moved to West Virginia, my mother adopted an orphan boy into our family, despite our poverty. We later named him James B. Washington. He has been a member of the family ever since.

After I had worked in the salt-furnace for some time, work was secured for me in a coal-mine which was operated mainly for the purpose of securing fuel for the salt-furnace. Work in the coal-mine I always dreaded. One reason 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 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 education; 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.

After I had worked at the salt furnace for some time, I got a job in a coal mine. The mine was operated mainly to supply fuel for the salt furnace. I always dreaded working in the coal mine. One reason was that anyone who worked there was always dirty, at least while working. It was very hard to get your skin clean after a day’s work. Also, it was a full mile from the mine entrance to the coal face. The whole way was in the deepest darkness. I do not believe anyone experiences such darkness anywhere else as in a coal mine. The mine was divided into many different “rooms” or sections. I never learned where all the “rooms” were, so I often got lost in the mine. To make being lost even more terrifying, sometimes my light would go out. If I did not happen to have a match, I would wander in the darkness. I would go on until I happened to find someone who could give me a light. The work was not only hard but dangerous. There was always a risk of being blown to pieces by gunpowder exploding too soon or crushed by falling slate. Accidents from one cause or the other happened frequently, and this kept me in constant fear. Many very young children were forced to spend much of their lives in these coal mines. They had little opportunity to get an education. I fear the same is true now in most coal-mining districts. Worse still, I have often noticed that young boys who start life in a coal mine are generally stunted, both physically and mentally. They soon lose any ambition to do anything but continue working as coal miners.

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 those days, and later as a young man, I often imagined the feelings and ambitions of a white boy. Nothing at all limited what he could aspire to or do. I envied the white boy who faced no barriers to becoming a Congressman, Governor, Bishop, or President because of his birth or race. I imagined how I would act in his place. I would start at the bottom and keep rising until I reached the highest level 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 almost reached the conclusion that often the Negro boy’s birth and connection with an unpopular race is an advantage, 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 comparatively smooth by reason of birth and race.

In later years, I admit that I no longer envy the white boy as I once did. I have learned that success is measured less by a person’s position in life than by the obstacles overcome in reaching it. From this point of view, I have almost concluded that being born into an unpopular race is often an advantage for a Black boy in real life. With few exceptions, a Black youth must work harder and do his tasks better than a white youth to gain recognition. But the hard and unusual struggle he is forced to go through gives him strength and confidence. A person whose path is relatively smooth because of his birth and race misses out on these qualities.

From any point of view, I had rather be what I am, a member of the Negro race, than be able to claim membership 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 members 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 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 individual back if he possesses intrinsic, individual merit. Every persecuted individual and race should get much consolation 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.

From any point of view, I would rather be who I am, a member of the Negro race, than belong to the most favored of any other race. I have always been saddened to hear people claim rights, privileges, or special marks of distinction simply because they belong to a particular race. Such claims ignore their individual worth or achievements. I feel sad for these people because I know that merely belonging to a so-called superior race will not permanently help someone advance without individual worth. And merely belonging to a race regarded as inferior will not ultimately hold someone back if that person has genuine individual merit. Every persecuted individual and race should find great comfort in a universal and eternal human law. In the long run, merit is recognized and rewarded, no matter the color of the skin in which it is found. I have said this not to draw attention to myself as an individual, but to the race to which I am proud to belong.