A Harder Task Than Making Bricks Without Straw

From the very beginning, at Tuskegee, I was determined to have the students do not only the agricultural and domestic work, but to have them erect their own buildings. My plan was to have them, while performing this service, taught the latest and best methods of labour, so that the school would not only get the benefit of their efforts, but the students themselves would be taught to see not only utility in labour, but beauty and dignity; would be taught, in fact, how to lift labour up from mere drudgery and toil, and would learn to love work for its own sake. My plan was not to teach them to work in the old way, but to show them how to make the forces of nature—air, water, steam, electricity, horse-power—assist them in their labour.

From the beginning at Tuskegee, I was determined that students would do more than farm and do household work. I wanted them to build their own buildings too. My plan was to teach them the latest and best methods of work as they did these jobs. The school would benefit from their efforts, and the students would learn to see not only the usefulness of work, but also its beauty and dignity. They would learn how to raise work above mere drudgery and toil, and to love it for its own sake. I did not plan to teach them to work in the old way. Instead, I wanted to show them how to use the forces of nature to help them work: air, water, steam, electricity, and horsepower.

At first many advised against the experiment of having the buildings erected by the labour of the students, but I was determined to stick to it. I told those who doubted the wisdom of the plan that I knew that our first buildings would not be so comfortable or so complete in their finish as buildings erected by the experienced hands of outside workmen, but that in the teaching of civilization, self-help, and self-reliance, the erection of buildings by the students themselves would more than compensate for any lack of comfort or fine finish.

At first, many people advised against the experiment of having students build the buildings, but I was determined to continue. I spoke to those who doubted the wisdom of the plan. I knew our first buildings would not be as comfortable or as well finished as those built by experienced outside workers. But building them would teach students civilization, self-help, and self-reliance. These lessons would more than make up for any lack of comfort or fine finish.

I further told those who doubted the wisdom of this plan, that the majority of our students came to us in poverty, from the cabins of the cotton, sugar, and rice plantations of the South, and that while I knew it would please the students very much to place them at once in finely constructed buildings, I felt that it would be following out a more natural process of development to teach them how to construct their own buildings. Mistakes I knew would be made, but these mistakes would teach us valuable lessons for the future.

I also told those who doubted the plan’s wisdom that most of our students came to us in poverty. They came from cabins on the South’s cotton, sugar, and rice plantations. I knew they would be delighted to move into well-built buildings right away. But I felt it would be more natural to teach them how to build their own buildings. I knew mistakes would be made, but those mistakes would teach us valuable lessons for the future.

During the now nineteen years’ existence of the Tuskegee school, the plan of having the buildings erected by student labour has been adhered to. In this time forty buildings, counting small and large, have been built, and all except four are almost wholly the product of student labour. As an additional result, hundreds of men are now scattered throughout the South who received their knowledge of mechanics while being taught how to erect these buildings. Skill and knowledge are now handed down from one set of students to another in this way, until at the present time a building of any description or size can be constructed wholly by our instructors and students, from the drawing of the plans to the putting in of the electric fixtures, without going off the grounds for a single workman.

For all nineteen years of the Tuskegee school's existence, we have kept to the plan of having students build its buildings. During that time, forty buildings, large and small, have been built. All except four are almost entirely the product of student labor. As an additional result, hundreds of men are now scattered throughout the South. They learned construction skills while being taught how to erect these buildings. In this way, skills and knowledge are now passed down from one group of students to another. Our instructors and students can now build any kind or size of building entirely on their own. They can do everything from drawing the plans to installing the electrical fixtures, without hiring a single worker from outside the grounds.

Not a few times, when a new student has been led into the temptation of marring the looks of some building by leadpencil marks or by the cuts of a jack-knife, I have heard an old student remind him: “Don’t do that. That is our building. I helped put it up.”

Many times, a new student has been tempted to spoil a building’s appearance with pencil marks or cuts from a pocketknife. I have heard an older student remind him: “Don’t do that. That is our building. I helped build it.”

In the early days of the school I think my most trying experience was in the matter of brickmaking. As soon as we got the farm work reasonably well started, we directed our next efforts toward the industry of making bricks. We needed these for use in connection with the erection of our own buildings; but there was also another reason for establishing this industry. There was no brickyard in the town, and in addition to our own needs there was a demand for bricks in the general market.

In the early days of the school, I think my most difficult experience was making bricks. As soon as we had farm work reasonably well underway, we turned our efforts to making bricks. We needed bricks to construct our own buildings. But we had another reason for starting a brickyard. There was no brickyard in town, and others needed bricks besides us.

I had always sympathized with the “Children of Israel,” in their task of “making bricks without straw,” but ours was the task of making bricks with no money and no experience.

I had always felt sympathy for the “Children of Israel” and their task of “making bricks without straw.” But our task was to make bricks with no money and no experience.

In the first place, the work was hard and dirty, and it was difficult to get the students to help. When it came to brickmaking, their distaste for manual labour in connection with book education became especially manifest. It was not a pleasant task for one to stand in the mud-pit for hours, with the mud up to his knees. More than one man became disgusted and left the school.

First, the work was hard and dirty, and it was difficult to get the students to help. Brickmaking made their dislike of doing manual labor while studying books especially clear. Standing in the mud pit for hours, with mud up to your knees, was not pleasant. More than one man became disgusted and left the school.

We tried several locations before we opened up a pit that furnished brick clay. I had always supposed that brickmaking was very simple, but I soon found out by bitter experience that it required special skill and knowledge, particularly in the burning of the bricks. After a good deal of effort we moulded about twenty-five thousand bricks, and put them into a kiln to be burned. This kiln turned out to be a failure, because it was not properly constructed or properly burned. We began at once, however, on a second kiln. This, for some reason, also proved a failure. The failure of this kiln made it still more difficult to get the students to take part in the work. Several of the teachers, however, who had been trained in the industries at Hampton, volunteered their services, and in some way we succeeded in getting a third kiln ready for burning. The burning of a kiln required about a week. Toward the latter part of the week, when it seemed as if we were going to have a good many thousand bricks in a few hours, in the middle of the night the kiln fell. For the third time we had failed.

We tried several locations before we dug a pit that yielded clay for bricks. I had always thought brickmaking was simple. But bitter experience soon taught me that it required special skill and knowledge, especially when firing the bricks. After much effort, we molded about twenty-five thousand bricks and put them in a kiln to be fired. The kiln failed because it was not properly built or fired. Still, we immediately started on a second kiln. For some reason, that kiln also failed. The second failure made it even harder to get the students to take part in the work. But several teachers who had been trained in industrial trades at Hampton volunteered to help. Somehow, we managed to get a third kiln ready for firing. Firing a kiln took about a week. Near the end of the week, it seemed we would have many thousands of bricks within a few hours. Then, in the middle of the night, the kiln collapsed. We had failed for the third time.

The failure of this last kiln left me without a single dollar with which to make another experiment. Most of the teachers advised the abandoning of the effort to make bricks. In the midst of my troubles I thought of a watch which had come into my possession years before. I took the watch to the city of Montgomery, which was not far distant, and placed it in a pawn-shop. I secured cash upon it to the amount of fifteen dollars, with which to renew the brickmaking experiment. I returned to Tuskegee, and, with the help of the fifteen dollars, rallied our rather demoralized and discouraged forces and began a fourth attempt to make bricks. This time, I am glad to say, we were successful. Before I got hold of any money, the time-limit on my watch had expired, and I have never seen it since; but I have never regretted the loss of it.

The failure of the last kiln left me without a single dollar to try again. Most of the teachers advised giving up the effort to make bricks. In the midst of my troubles, I thought of a watch I had acquired years before. I took the watch to nearby Montgomery and pawned it for fifteen dollars. With that money, I could try making bricks again. I returned to Tuskegee and used the fifteen dollars to rally our discouraged and demoralized group. We began a fourth attempt to make bricks. This time, I am glad to say, we succeeded. Before I got any money, the deadline for reclaiming my watch had passed. I have never seen the watch since, but I have never regretted losing it.

Brickmaking has now become such an important industry at the school that last season our students manufactured twelve hundred thousand of first-class bricks, of a quality suitable to be sold in any market. Aside from this, scores of young men have mastered the brickmaking trade—both the making of bricks by hand and by machinery—and are now engaged in this industry in many parts of the South.

Brickmaking has become an important industry at the school. Last season, our students made 1,200,000 first-class bricks, good enough to sell in any market. In addition, scores of young men have mastered the trade, learning to make bricks both by hand and by machine. They now work in the brickmaking industry in many parts of the South.

The making of these bricks taught me an important lesson in regard to the relations of the two races in the South. Many white people who had had no contact with the school, and perhaps no sympathy with it, came to us to buy bricks because they found out that ours were good bricks. They discovered that we were supplying a real want in the community. The making of these bricks caused many of the white residents of the neighbourhood to begin to feel that the education of the Negro was not making him worthless, but that in educating our students we were adding something to the wealth and comfort of the community. As the people of the neighbourhood came to us to buy bricks, we got acquainted with them; they traded with us and we with them. Our business interests became intermingled. We had something which they wanted; they had something which we wanted. This, in a large measure, helped to lay the foundation for the pleasant relations that have continued to exist between us and the white people in that section, and which now extend throughout the South.

Making these bricks taught me an important lesson about relations between the two races in the South. Many white people who had no contact with the school came to buy our bricks. Perhaps they did not sympathize with the school, but they had learned that our bricks were good. They discovered that we were meeting a real need in the community. Making bricks led many white residents of the neighborhood to see that education was not making Black people worthless. Instead, by educating our students, we were adding to the wealth and comfort of the community. As our neighbors came to buy bricks, we got to know them. They traded with us, and we traded with them. Our business interests became connected. We had something they wanted, and they had something we wanted. This helped a great deal to lay the foundation for our good relations with white people in that area. Those good relations have continued and now extend throughout the South.

Wherever one of our brickmakers has gone in the South, we find that he has something to contribute to the well-being of the community into which he has gone; something that has made the community feel that, in a degree, it is indebted to him, and perhaps, to a certain extent, dependent upon him. In this way pleasant relations between the races have been stimulated.

Wherever one of our brickmakers has gone in the South, he has contributed to the well-being of the community. The community has come to feel that it owes him something and perhaps even depends on him to some extent. In this way, good relations between the races have been encouraged.

My experience is that there is something in human nature which always makes an individual recognize and reward merit, no matter under what colour of skin merit is found. I have found, too, that it is the visible, the tangible, that goes a long ways in softening prejudices. The actual sight of a first-class house that a Negro has built is ten times more potent than pages of discussion about a house that he ought to build, or perhaps could build.

In my experience, something in human nature always makes people recognize and reward merit, no matter a person’s skin color. I have also found that what people can see and touch goes a long way toward softening prejudice. Actually seeing an excellent house built by a Black person is ten times more powerful than pages of discussion about a house he ought to build or perhaps could build.

The same principle of industrial education has been carried out in the building of our own wagons, carts, and buggies, from the first. We now own and use on our farm and about the school dozens of these vehicles, and every one of them has been built by the hands of the students. Aside from this, we help supply the local market with these vehicles. The supplying of them to the people in the community has had the same effect as the supplying of bricks, and the man who learns at Tuskegee to build and repair wagons and carts is regarded as a benefactor by both races in the community where he goes. The people with whom he lives and works are going to think twice before they part with such a man.

From the beginning, we have applied the same principle of industrial education by building our own wagons, carts, and buggies. We now own dozens of these vehicles and use them on our farm and around the school. Students built every one of them. We also help supply these vehicles to the local market. Supplying vehicles to the community has had the same effect as supplying bricks. A man who learns to build and repair wagons and carts at Tuskegee is regarded as a benefactor by both races in the community where he goes. The people he lives and works with will think twice before letting such a man go.

The individual who can do something that the world wants done will, in the end, make his way regardless of race. One man may go into a community prepared to supply the people there with an analysis of Greek sentences. The community may not at the time be prepared for, or feel the need of, Greek analysis, but it may feel its need of bricks and houses and wagons. If the man can supply the need for those, then, it will lead eventually to a demand for the first product, and with the demand will come the ability to appreciate it and to profit by it.

A person who can do something the world wants done will eventually succeed, regardless of race. A man may come to a community ready to analyze Greek sentences for its people. The community may not yet be ready for Greek analysis or feel a need for it. But the community may need bricks, houses, and wagons. If the man can supply those things, this will eventually lead to a demand for Greek analysis. With that demand will come the ability to appreciate Greek analysis and benefit from it.

About the time that we succeeded in burning our first kiln of bricks we began facing in an emphasized form the objection of the students to being taught to work. By this time it had gotten to be pretty well advertised throughout the state that every student who came to Tuskegee, no matter what his financial ability might be, must learn some industry. Quite a number of letters came from parents protesting against their children engaging in labour while they were in the school. Other parents came to the school to protest in person. Most of the new students brought a written or a verbal request from their parents to the effect that they wanted their children taught nothing but books. The more books, the larger they were, and the longer the titles printed upon them, the better pleased the students and their parents seemed to be.

Around the time we succeeded in firing our first kiln of bricks, we began to face stronger objections from students to being taught to work. By then, it was widely known throughout the state that every student who came to Tuskegee had to learn a trade, no matter how much money they had. Quite a few parents wrote letters protesting against their children doing labor while at school. Other parents came to the school to protest in person. Most new students brought a written or spoken request from their parents. The parents wanted their children taught nothing but book learning. The more books there were, the larger the books, and the longer the titles printed on them, the happier the students and their parents seemed to be.

I gave little heed to these protests, except that I lost no opportunity to go into as many parts of the state as I could, for the purpose of speaking to the parents, and showing them the value of industrial education. Besides, I talked to the students constantly on the subject. Notwithstanding the unpopularity of industrial work, the school continued to increase in numbers to such an extent that by the middle of the second year there was an attendance of about one hundred and fifty, representing almost all parts of the state of Alabama, and including a few from other states.

I paid little attention to these protests. Instead, I took every opportunity to visit as many parts of the state as I could. I spoke to parents and showed them the value of industrial education. I also talked to the students constantly about industrial education. Although industrial work was unpopular, the school continued to grow. By the middle of the second year, about 150 students were attending. They came from almost all parts of Alabama, and a few came from other states.

In the summer of 1882 Miss Davidson and I both went North and engaged in the work of raising funds for the completion of our new building. On my way North I stopped in New York to try to get a letter of recommendation from an officer of a missionary organization who had become somewhat acquainted with me a few years previous. This man not only refused to give me the letter, but advised me most earnestly to go back home at once, and not make any attempt to get money, for he was quite sure that I would never get more than enough to pay my travelling expenses. I thanked him for his advice, and proceeded on my journey.

In the summer of 1882, Miss Davidson and I both went North to raise money to finish our new building. On my way North, I stopped in New York to seek a letter of recommendation from a missionary organization officer. He had come to know me a little a few years earlier. He not only refused to give me the letter, but strongly advised me to go home at once. He urged me not to try to raise money because he was sure I would raise no more than my travel expenses. I thanked him for his advice and continued on my journey.

The first place I went to in the North, was Northampton, Mass., where I spent nearly a half-day in looking for a coloured family with whom I could board, never dreaming that any hotel would admit me. I was greatly surprised when I found that I would have no trouble in being accommodated at a hotel.

The first place I visited in the North was Northampton, Mass. I spent nearly half a day there looking for a Black family I could stay with. I never imagined that a hotel would admit me. I was greatly surprised to find that I would have no trouble staying at a hotel.

We were successful in getting money enough so that on Thanksgiving Day of that year we held our first service in the chapel of Porter Hall, although the building was not completed.

We raised enough money to hold our first service in the chapel of Porter Hall on Thanksgiving Day that year. The building was not yet complete.

In looking about for some one to preach the Thanksgiving sermon, I found one of the rarest men that it has ever been my privilege to know. This was the Rev. Robert C. Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin, who was then pastor of a little coloured Congregational church in Montgomery, Ala. Before going to Montgomery to look for some one to preach this sermon I had never heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never heard of me. He gladly consented to come to Tuskegee and hold the Thanksgiving service. It was the first service of the kind that the coloured people there had ever observed, and what a deep interest they manifested in it! The sight of the new building made it a day of Thanksgiving for them never to be forgotten.

While looking for someone to preach the Thanksgiving sermon, I found one of the most remarkable men I have ever had the privilege to know. He was the Rev. Robert C. Bedford, a white man from Wisconsin. At the time, he was pastor of a small Black Congregational church in Montgomery, Alabama. Before going to Montgomery to find someone to preach the sermon, I had never heard of Mr. Bedford. He had never heard of me, either. He gladly agreed to come to Tuskegee and lead the Thanksgiving service. The Black people there had never observed such a service before, and they showed such deep interest in it! Seeing the new building made it a Thanksgiving day they would never forget.

Mr. Bedford consented to become one of the trustees of the school, and in that capacity, and as a worker for it, he has been connected with it for eighteen years. During this time he has borne the school upon his heart night and day, and is never so happy as when he is performing some service, no matter how humble, for it. He completely obliterates himself in everything, and looks only for permission to serve where service is most disagreeable, and where others would not be attracted. In all my relations with him he has seemed to me to approach as nearly to the spirit of the Master as almost any man I ever met.

Mr. Bedford agreed to become one of the school’s trustees. He has served as a trustee and worked for the school for eighteen years. Throughout that time, he has carried the school in his heart night and day. He is happiest when he is doing something for it, no matter how humble the task. He puts himself completely aside and asks only to serve where the work is most unpleasant and others would not be drawn to it. In all my dealings with him, he has seemed to me to come as close to the spirit of the Master as almost any man I have ever met.

A little later there came into the service of the school another man, quite young at the time, and fresh from Hampton, without whose service the school never could have become what it is. This was Mr. Warren Logan, who now for seventeen years has been the treasurer of the Institute, and the acting principal during my absence. He has always shown a degree of unselfishness and an amount of business tact, coupled with a clear judgment, that has kept the school in good condition no matter how long I have been absent from it. During all the financial stress through which the school has passed, his patience and faith in our ultimate success have not left him.

A little later, another man joined the school. He was quite young and had just come from Hampton. Without his service, the school could never have become what it is. This was Mr. Warren Logan, who has now been the Institute’s treasurer for seventeen years. He also serves as acting principal during my absences. His unselfishness, business skill, and clear judgment have kept the school in good condition, no matter how long I have been away. Through all the school’s financial difficulties, he has never lost his patience or his faith in our ultimate success.

As soon as our first building was near enough to completion so that we could occupy a portion of it—which was near the middle of the second year of the school—we opened a boarding department. Students had begun coming from quite a distance, and in such increasing numbers that we felt more and more that we were merely skimming over the surface, in that we were not getting hold of the students in their home life.

Around the middle of the school’s second year, our first building was nearly complete. As soon as we could use part of the building, we opened a boarding department. Students had begun coming from considerable distances, and their numbers were growing. We increasingly felt that we were only scratching the surface because we could not influence the students’ home lives.

We had nothing but the students and their appetites with which to begin a boarding department. No provision had been made in the new building for a kitchen and dining room; but we discovered that by digging out a large amount of earth from under the building we could make a partially lighted basement room that could be used for a kitchen and dining room. Again I called on the students to volunteer for work, this time to assist in digging out the basement. This they did, and in a few weeks we had a place to cook and eat in, although it was very rough and uncomfortable. Any one seeing the place now would never believe that it was once used for a dining room.

We had nothing but the students and their appetites to start a boarding department. The new building had no space set aside for a kitchen or dining room. But we discovered that we could dig out a large amount of earth from under the building. This would give us a basement room with some light, which we could use for cooking and eating. Once again, I asked the students to volunteer for work. This time, I asked them to help dig out the basement. They did, and within a few weeks we had a place to cook and eat, although it was very rough and uncomfortable. Anyone seeing the place now would never believe it was once used as a dining room.

The most serious problem, though, was to get the boarding department started off in running order, with nothing to do with in the way of furniture, and with no money with which to buy anything. The merchants in the town would let us have what food we wanted on credit. In fact, in those earlier years I was constantly embarrassed because people seemed to have more faith in me than I had in myself. It was pretty hard to cook, however, without stoves, and awkward to eat without dishes. At first the cooking was done out-of-doors, in the old-fashioned, primitive style, in pots and skillets placed over a fire. Some of the carpenters’ benches that had been used in the construction of the building were utilized for tables. As for dishes, there were too few to make it worth while to spend time in describing them.

The most serious problem, though, was getting the boarding department running without any furniture or money to buy it. The town’s merchants would let us buy all the food we wanted on credit. In fact, during those early years, I was constantly embarrassed because people seemed to have more faith in me than I had in myself. But cooking without stoves was pretty hard, and eating without dishes was awkward. At first, we cooked outdoors in the old, basic way, using pots and skillets placed over a fire. We used some of the carpenters’ benches from the building’s construction as tables. As for dishes, there were too few to be worth describing.

No one connected with the boarding department seemed to have any idea that meals must be served at certain fixed and regular hours, and this was a source of great worry. Everything was so out of joint and so inconvenient that I feel safe in saying that for the first two weeks something was wrong at every meal. Either the meat was not done or had been burnt, or the salt had been left out of the bread, or the tea had been forgotten.

No one involved in the boarding department seemed to understand that meals had to be served at regular times. This caused me great worry. Everything was so disorganized and inconvenient that I can safely say something went wrong at every meal for the first two weeks. Either the meat was undercooked or burned, the salt had been left out of the bread, or the tea had been forgotten.

Early one morning I was standing near the dining-room door listening to the complaints of the students. The complaints that morning were especially emphatic and numerous, because the whole breakfast had been a failure. One of the girls who had failed to get any breakfast came out and went to the well to draw some water to drink and take the place of the breakfast which she had not been able to get. When she reached the well, she found that the rope was broken and that she could get no water. She turned from the well and said, in the most discouraged tone, not knowing that I was where I could hear her, “We can’t even get water to drink at this school.” I think no one remark ever came so near discouraging me as that one.

Early one morning, I was standing near the dining-room door, listening to the students complain. Their complaints were especially strong and numerous that morning because the whole breakfast had been a failure. One girl who had gotten no breakfast came out and went to the well. She wanted to draw some water to drink in place of the breakfast she had missed. But when she reached the well, she found that the rope was broken and she could get no water. She turned away, not knowing that I could hear her, and said in a deeply discouraged voice, “We can’t even get water to drink at this school.” I think no other remark ever came so close to discouraging me as that one.

At another time, when Mr. Bedford—whom I have already spoken of as one of our trustees, and a devoted friend of the institution—was visiting the school, he was given a bedroom immediately over the dining room. Early in the morning he was awakened by a rather animated discussion between two boys in the dining room below. The discussion was over the question as to whose turn it was to use the coffee-cup that morning. One boy won the case by proving that for three mornings he had not had an opportunity to use the cup at all.

On another occasion, Mr. Bedford visited the school. I have already mentioned him as one of our trustees and a devoted friend of the institution. He was given a bedroom directly above the dining room. Early in the morning, he was awakened by two boys arguing quite animatedly in the dining room below. They were arguing over whose turn it was to use the coffee cup that morning. One boy won the argument by proving that he had not had a chance to use the cup for three mornings.

But gradually, with patience and hard work, we brought order out of chaos, just as will be true of any problem if we stick to it with patience and wisdom and earnest effort.

But gradually, with patience and hard work, we brought order out of chaos. Just as we did, we can solve any problem if we stick to it with patience, wisdom, and earnest effort.

As I look back now over that part of our struggle, I am glad to see that we had it. I am glad that we endured all those discomforts and inconveniences. I am glad that our students had to dig out the place for their kitchen and dining room. I am glad that our first boarding-place was in the dismal, ill-lighted, and damp basement. Had we started in a fine, attractive, convenient room, I fear we would have “lost our heads” and become “stuck up.” It means a great deal, I think, to start off on a foundation which one has made for one’s self.

Looking back on that part of our struggle, I am glad we went through it. I am glad we endured all those discomforts and inconveniences. I am glad our students had to dig out the space for their kitchen and dining room. I am glad our first boarding place was in that gloomy, dimly lit, damp basement. If we had started in a fine, attractive, convenient room, I fear we would have “lost our heads” and become “stuck up.” I think it means a great deal to start on a foundation you have built for yourself.

When our old students return to Tuskegee now, as they often do, and go into our large, beautiful, well-ventilated, and well-lighted dining room, and see tempting, well-cooked food—largely grown by the students themselves—and see tables, neat tablecloths and napkins, and vases of flowers upon the tables, and hear singing birds, and note that each meal is served exactly upon the minute, with no disorder, and with almost no complaint coming from the hundreds that now fill our dining room, they, too, often say to me that they are glad that we started as we did, and built ourselves up year by year, by a slow and natural process of growth.

Our former students often return to Tuskegee. They enter our large, beautiful dining room, which is well ventilated and well lit. They see tempting, well-cooked food, much of it grown by the students themselves. They see tables with neat tablecloths, napkins, and vases of flowers, and they hear birds singing. They notice that every meal is served exactly on time, without disorder. They hear almost no complaints from the hundreds of people who now fill our dining room. These former students, too, often tell me they are glad we started as we did. They are glad we built ourselves up year by year through a slow, natural process of growth.