Introduction

The details of Mr. Washington’s early life, as frankly set down in “Up from Slavery,” do not give quite a whole view of his education. He had the training that a coloured youth receives at Hampton, which, indeed, the autobiography does explain. But the reader does not get his intellectual pedigree, for Mr. Washington himself, perhaps, does not as clearly understand it as another man might. The truth is he had a training during the most impressionable period of his life that was very extraordinary, such a training as few men of his generation have had. To see its full meaning one must start in the Hawaiian Islands half a century or more ago.* There Samuel Armstrong, a youth of missionary parents, earned enough money to pay his expenses at an American college. Equipped with this small sum and the earnestness that the undertaking implied, he came to Williams College when Dr. Mark Hopkins was president. Williams College had many good things for youth in that day, as it has in this, but the greatest was the strong personality of its famous president. Every student does not profit by a great teacher; but perhaps no young man ever came under the influence of Dr. Hopkins, whose whole nature was so ripe for profit by such an experience as young Armstrong. He lived in the family of President Hopkins, and thus had a training that was wholly out of the common; and this training had much to do with the development of his own strong character, whose originality and force we are only beginning to appreciate.

The details of Mr. Washington’s early life, honestly told in “Up from Slavery,” do not give a complete picture of his education. He received the training given to a Black youth at Hampton, which the autobiography does explain. But the reader does not learn the origins of his intellectual development. Perhaps Mr. Washington himself does not understand them as clearly as someone else might. The truth is that he received extraordinary training during the most impressionable period of his life. Few men of his generation had such training. To understand its full meaning, one must start in the Hawaiian Islands more than half a century ago.* There, Samuel Armstrong, the son of missionaries, earned enough money to pay his expenses at an American college. With this small sum and the determination his undertaking required, he came to Williams College. Dr. Mark Hopkins was president at the time. Williams College had much to offer young people then, as it does today. But its greatest asset was the strong personality of its famous president. Not every student benefits from a great teacher. But perhaps no young man influenced by Dr. Hopkins was as ready to benefit from the experience as young Armstrong. Armstrong lived in President Hopkins’s family, and so received a most unusual education. This training did much to develop his own strong character. We are only beginning to appreciate its originality and force.

In turn, Samuel Armstrong, the founder of Hampton Institute, took up his work as a trainer of youth. He had very raw material, and doubtless most of his pupils failed to get the greatest lessons from him; but, as he had been a peculiarly receptive pupil of Dr. Hopkins, so Booker Washington became a peculiarly receptive pupil of his. To the formation of Mr. Washington’s character, then, went the missionary zeal of New England, influenced by one of the strongest personalities in modern education, and the wide-reaching moral earnestness of General Armstrong himself. These influences are easily recognizable in Mr. Washington to-day by men who knew Dr. Hopkins and General Armstrong.

Samuel Armstrong, the founder of Hampton Institute, went on to work as a teacher of young people. His students were very untrained, and doubtless most of them failed to learn his greatest lessons. But just as he had been an unusually receptive student of Dr. Hopkins, Booker Washington became an unusually receptive student of Armstrong. Mr. Washington’s character was shaped by the missionary zeal of New England, influenced by one of the strongest personalities in modern education. It was also shaped by General Armstrong’s own broad moral seriousness. Men who knew Dr. Hopkins and General Armstrong can easily recognize these influences in Mr. Washington today.

I got the cue to Mr. Washington’s character from a very simple incident many years ago. I had never seen him, and I knew little about him, except that he was the head of a school at Tuskegee, Alabama. I had occasion to write to him, and I addressed him as “The Rev. Booker T. Washington.” In his reply there was no mention of my addressing him as a clergyman. But when I had occasion to write to him again, and persisted in making him a preacher, his second letter brought a postscript: “I have no claim to ‘Rev.’” I knew most of the coloured men who at that time had become prominent as leaders of their race, but I had not then known one who was neither a politician nor a preacher; and I had not heard of the head of an important coloured school who was not a preacher. “A new kind of man in the coloured world,” I said to myself—“a new kind of man surely if he looks upon his task as an economic one instead of a theological one.” I wrote him an apology for mistaking him for a preacher.

I first understood Mr. Washington’s character through a very simple incident many years ago. I had never met him and knew little about him. I knew only that he was the head of a school in Tuskegee, Alabama. I had reason to write to him, and I addressed him as “The Rev. Booker T. Washington.” In his reply, he said nothing about my calling him a clergyman. But when I wrote to him again, I still called him a preacher. His second letter included a postscript: “I have no claim to ‘Rev.’” I knew most of the Black men who had become prominent as leaders of their race at that time. But I had never known one who was neither a politician nor a preacher. Nor had I heard of the head of an important Black school who was not a preacher. “A new kind of man in the Black community,” I said to myself. “Surely a new kind of man if he sees his task as an economic one rather than a theological one.” I wrote to apologize for mistaking him for a preacher.

The first time that I went to Tuskegee I was asked to make an address to the school on Sunday evening. I sat upon the platform of the large chapel and looked forth on a thousand coloured faces, and the choir of a hundred or more behind me sang a familiar religious melody, and the whole company joined in the chorus with unction. I was the only white man under the roof, and the scene and the songs made an impression on me that I shall never forget. Mr. Washington arose and asked them to sing one after another of the old melodies that I had heard all my life; but I had never before heard them sung by a thousand voices nor by the voices of educated Negroes. I had associated them with the Negro of the past, not with the Negro who was struggling upward. They brought to my mind the plantation, the cabin, the slave, not the freedman in quest of education. But on the plantation and in the cabin they had never been sung as these thousand students sang them. I saw again all the old plantations that I had ever seen; the whole history of the Negro ran through my mind; and the inexpressible pathos of his life found expression in these songs as I had never before felt it.

The first time I went to Tuskegee, I was asked to speak to the school on Sunday evening. I sat on the platform in the large chapel and looked out at a thousand Black faces. Behind me, a choir of a hundred or more sang a familiar religious melody. Everyone joined in the chorus with deep devotion. I was the only white man in the building. The scene and the songs made an impression on me that I will never forget. Mr. Washington stood up and asked the students to sing one old melody after another. I had heard these songs all my life. But I had never heard them sung by a thousand voices or by the voices of educated Black people. I had associated the songs with Black people of the past, not with those who were working to rise. The songs brought to mind the plantation, the cabin, and the enslaved person, not the freed person seeking education. But on the plantation and in the cabin, the songs had never been sung as these thousand students sang them. I saw again all the old plantations I had ever seen. The whole history of Black people ran through my mind. The inexpressible sorrow of Black life found expression in these songs as I had never felt it before.

And the future? These were the ambitious youths of the race, at work with an earnestness that put to shame the conventional student life of most educational institutions. Another song rolled up along the rafters. And as soon as silence came, I found myself in front of this extraordinary mass of faces, thinking not of them, but of that long and unhappy chapter in our country’s history which followed the one great structural mistake of the Fathers of the Republic; thinking of the one continuous great problem that generations of statesmen had wrangled over, and a million men fought about, and that had so dwarfed the mass of English men in the Southern States as to hold them back a hundred years behind their fellows in every other part of the world—in England, in Australia, and in the Northern and Western States; I was thinking of this dark shadow that had oppressed every large-minded statesman from Jefferson to Lincoln. These thousand young men and women about me were victims of it. I, too, was an innocent victim of it. The whole Republic was a victim of that fundamental error of importing Africa into America. I held firmly to the first article of my faith that the Republic must stand fast by the principle of a fair ballot; but I recalled the wretched mess that Reconstruction had made of it; I recalled the low level of public life in all the “black” States. Every effort of philanthropy seemed to have miscarried, every effort at correcting abuses seemed of doubtful value, and the race friction seemed to become severer. Here was the century-old problem in all its pathos seated singing before me. Who were the more to be pitied—these innocent victims of an ancient wrong, or I and men like me, who had inherited the problem? I had long ago thrown aside illusions and theories, and was willing to meet the facts face to face, and to do whatever in God’s name a man might do towards saving the next generation from such a burden. But I felt the weight of twenty well-nigh hopeless years of thought and reading and observation; for the old difficulties remained and new ones had sprung up. Then I saw clearly that the way out of a century of blunders had been made by this man who stood beside me and was introducing me to this audience. Before me was the material he had used. All about me was the indisputable evidence that he had found the natural line of development. He had shown the way. Time and patience and encouragement and work would do the rest.

And the future? These were the ambitious young people of the race. They worked with a seriousness that put ordinary student life at most educational institutions to shame. Another song rose toward the rafters. When the room fell silent, I found myself facing this extraordinary crowd of faces. But I was not thinking about them. I was thinking about the long and unhappy chapter in our country’s history that followed the one great structural mistake of the Fathers of the Republic. I thought about the one great problem that had continued through the years. Generations of statesmen had argued over it, and a million men had fought over it. The problem had so held back the English people in the Southern States that they lagged a hundred years behind their peers everywhere else: in England, Australia, and the Northern and Western States. I was thinking about this dark shadow that had weighed on every broad-minded statesman from Jefferson to Lincoln. The thousand young men and women around me were victims of it. I, too, was an innocent victim. The whole Republic was a victim of the fundamental error of importing Africa into America. I held firmly to the first principle of my faith: the Republic must stand by the principle of a fair ballot. But I remembered the terrible mess Reconstruction had made of it. I remembered the low level of public life in all the “black” States. Every charitable effort seemed to have failed. Every effort to correct abuses seemed of doubtful value, and racial friction seemed to be growing worse. Here was the century-old problem, with all its sadness, seated and singing before me. Who deserved more pity? These innocent victims of an old wrong, or I and men like me, who had inherited the problem? I had put aside illusions and theories long ago. I was willing to face the facts and do whatever, in God’s name, a man could do to save the next generation from such a burden. But I felt the weight of twenty years of thought, reading, and observation that had offered almost no hope. The old difficulties remained, and new ones had appeared. Then I saw clearly that the man standing beside me and introducing me to the audience had made a way out of a century of mistakes. Before me were the people he had worked with. All around me was undeniable evidence that he had found the natural path of development. He had shown the way. Time, patience, encouragement, and work would do the rest.

It was then more clearly than ever before that I understood the patriotic significance of Mr. Washington’s work. It is this conception of it and of him that I have ever since carried with me. It is on this that his claim to our gratitude rests.

It was then that I understood the patriotic importance of Mr. Washington’s work more clearly than ever before. I have held that view of him and his work ever since. It is why he deserves our gratitude.

To teach the Negro to read, whether English, or Greek, or Hebrew, butters no parsnips. To make the Negro work, that is what his master did in one way and hunger has done in another; yet both these left Southern life where they found it. But to teach the Negro to do skilful work, as men of all the races that have risen have worked,—responsible work, which IS education and character; and most of all when Negroes so teach Negroes to do this that they will teach others with a missionary zeal that puts all ordinary philanthropic efforts to shame,—this is to change the whole economic basis of life and the whole character of a people.

Teaching Black people to read English, Greek, or Hebrew accomplishes nothing practical. Making Black people work was what their masters did in one way, and hunger has done in another. Yet both left Southern life unchanged. But teaching Black people to do skilled, responsible work is education and character building. That is how people of all the races that have risen have worked. Most of all, Black people can teach other Black people to do this work. Those they teach will then teach others with a missionary zeal that puts all ordinary charitable efforts to shame. This is how to change the whole economic basis of life and the whole character of a people.

The plan itself is not a new one. It was worked out at Hampton Institute, but it was done at Hampton by white men. The plan had, in fact, been many times theoretically laid down by thoughtful students of Southern life. Handicrafts were taught in the days of slavery on most well-managed plantations. But Tuskegee is, nevertheless, a brand-new chapter in the history of the Negro, and in the history of the knottiest problem we have ever faced. It not only makes “a carpenter of a man; it makes a man of a carpenter.” In one sense, therefore, it is of greater value than any other institution for the training of men and women that we have, from Cambridge to Palo Alto. It is almost the only one of which it may be said that it points the way to a new epoch in a large area of our national life.

The plan itself is not new. It was developed at Hampton Institute, but white men carried it out there. In fact, thoughtful students of Southern life had often proposed the plan in theory. During slavery, most well-managed plantations taught handicrafts. But Tuskegee is still a brand-new chapter in the history of the Negro. It is also a new chapter in the history of the most difficult problem we have ever faced. It not only makes “a carpenter of a man; it makes a man of a carpenter.” In one sense, therefore, Tuskegee is more valuable than any other institution we have for training men and women, from Cambridge to Palo Alto. It is almost the only one that can be said to point the way to a new era in a large part of our national life.

To work out the plan on paper, or at a distance—that is one thing. For a white man to work it out—that too, is an easy thing. For a coloured man to work it out in the South, where, in its constructive period, he was necessarily misunderstood by his own people as well as by the whites, and where he had to adjust it at every step to the strained race relations—that is so very different and more difficult a thing that the man who did it put the country under lasting obligations to him.

Working out the plan on paper or from a distance is one thing. For a white man to put it into practice is easy too. But for a Black man to put it into practice in the South was very different and much more difficult. While he was developing the plan, his own people and white people alike would necessarily misunderstand him. He also had to adjust the plan at every step to strained race relations. The man who accomplished this put the country under a lasting obligation to him.

It was not and is not a mere educational task. Anybody could teach boys trades and give them an elementary education. Such tasks have been done since the beginning of civilization. But this task had to be done with the rawest of raw material, done within the civilization of the dominant race, and so done as not to run across race lines and social lines that are the strongest forces in the community. It had to be done for the benefit of the whole community. It had to be done, moreover, without local help, in the face of the direst poverty, done by begging, and done in spite of the ignorance of one race and the prejudice of the other.

This was not, and still is not, simply a task of education. Anyone could teach boys trades and give them a basic education. People have done such things since civilization began. But this task had to be done with the rawest of raw material, within the civilization of the dominant race. It had to be done without crossing racial and social lines, the strongest forces in the community. The work had to benefit the whole community. It also had to be done without local help, in the face of terrible poverty, and by begging. It had to be done despite the ignorance of one race and the prejudice of the other.

No man living had a harder task, and a task that called for more wisdom to do it right. The true measure of Mr. Washington’s success is, then, not his teaching the pupils of Tuskegee, nor even gaining the support of philanthropic persons at a distance, but this—that every Southern white man of character and of wisdom has been won to a cordial recognition of the value of the work, even men who held and still hold to the conviction that a mere book education for the Southern blacks under present conditions is a positive evil. This is a demonstration of the efficiency of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea that stands like the demonstration of the value of democratic institutions themselves—a demonstration made so clear in spite of the greatest odds that it is no longer open to argument.

No one living had a harder task, or one that required more wisdom to do it right. The true measure of Mr. Washington’s success, then, is not his teaching the students of Tuskegee. Nor is it even his gaining support from charitable people far away. It is that he has won every Southern white man of character and wisdom to a warm recognition of the work’s value. He has even won over men who believed, and still believe, that a purely book-based education is positively harmful to Southern Black people under present conditions. This demonstrates the effectiveness of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea, just as the value of democratic institutions themselves has been demonstrated. Both have been demonstrated so clearly, despite the greatest odds, that they are no longer open to argument.

Consider the change that has come in twenty years in the discussion of the Negro problem. Two or three decades ago social philosophers and statisticians and well-meaning philanthropists were still talking and writing about the deportation of the Negroes, or about their settlement within some restricted area, or about their settling in all parts of the Union, or about their decline through their neglect of their children, or about their rapid multiplication till they should expel the whites from the South—of every sort of nonsense under heaven. All this has given place to the simple plan of an indefinite extension among the neglected classes of both races of the Hampton-Tuskegee system of training. The “problem” in one sense has disappeared. The future will have for the South swift or slow development of its masses and of its soil in proportion to the swift or slow development of this kind of training. This change of view is a true measure of Mr. Washington’s work.

Consider how much the discussion of the “Negro problem” has changed in twenty years. Two or three decades ago, social philosophers, statisticians, and well-meaning philanthropists were still discussing and writing about deporting Black people. They also discussed settling them in a restricted area or throughout the Union. Some talked about a decline in the Black population because Black people neglected their children. Others talked about Black people multiplying so quickly that they would drive white people from the South. They discussed every kind of nonsense under heaven. All of this has given way to a simple plan. The plan is to extend the Hampton-Tuskegee system of training indefinitely among neglected groups of both races. In one sense, the “problem” has disappeared. In the future, the South will develop its people and its land quickly or slowly, depending on how quickly this kind of training develops. This change in outlook is a true measure of Mr. Washington’s work.

The literature of the Negro in America is colossal, from political oratory through abolitionism to “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and “Cotton is King”—a vast mass of books which many men have read to the waste of good years (and I among them); but the only books that I have read a second time or ever care again to read in the whole list (most of them by tiresome and unbalanced “reformers”) are “Uncle Remus” and “Up from Slavery”; for these are the great literature of the subject. One has all the best of the past, the other foreshadows a better future; and the men who wrote them are the only men who have written of the subject with that perfect frankness and perfect knowledge and perfect poise whose other name is genius.

The literature about Black people in America is enormous. It ranges from political speeches and abolitionist writing to “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” and “Cotton is King.” Many men have wasted good years reading this vast mass of books, myself included. Most were written by tiresome and unbalanced “reformers.” But of all these books, only “Uncle Remus” and “Up from Slavery” have I read twice or ever want to read again. These are the great works of literature on the subject. One contains all the best of the past. The other gives a glimpse of a better future. Their authors are the only men who have written on the subject with perfect frankness, perfect knowledge, and perfect poise. Another name for these qualities is genius.

Mr. Washington has won a world-wide fame at an early age. His story of his own life already has the distinction of translation into more languages, I think, than any other American book; and I suppose that he has as large a personal acquaintance among men of influence as any private citizen now living.

Mr. Washington became famous around the world at a young age. I think his life story has been translated into more languages than any other American book. I also suppose he personally knows as many influential people as any private citizen alive today.

His own teaching at Tuskegee is unique. He lectures to his advanced students on the art of right living, not out of text-books, but straight out of life. Then he sends them into the country to visit Negro families. Such a student will come back with a minute report of the way in which the family that he has seen lives, what their earnings are, what they do well and what they do ill; and he will explain how they might live better. He constructs a definite plan for the betterment of that particular family out of the resources that they have. Such a student, if he be bright, will profit more by an experience like this than he could profit by all the books on sociology and economics that ever were written. I talked with a boy at Tuskegee who had made such a study as this, and I could not keep from contrasting his knowledge and enthusiasm with what I heard in a class room at a Negro university in one of the Southern cities, which is conducted on the idea that a college course will save the soul. Here the class was reciting a lesson from an abstruse text-book on economics, reciting it by rote, with so obvious a failure to assimilate it that the waste of labour was pitiful.

His teaching at Tuskegee is unique. He lectures his advanced students on how to live rightly, drawing not on textbooks but on life itself. Then he sends them into the countryside to visit Black families. A student comes back with a detailed report on how a family lives, how much they earn, and what they do well and poorly. He also explains how they might live better. He makes a specific plan to improve that family's life using the resources they have. If the student is bright, he will learn more from this experience than from all the books on sociology and economics ever written. I talked with a boy at Tuskegee who had made such a study. I could not help contrasting his knowledge and enthusiasm with what I heard in a classroom at a Black university in a Southern city. The university was run on the idea that a college education could save the soul. There, the class was reciting a lesson from a difficult economics textbook by rote. The students had so obviously failed to absorb the lesson that the wasted effort was pitiful.

I asked Mr. Washington years ago what he regarded as the most important result of his work, and he replied:

Years ago, I asked Mr. Washington what he considered the most important result of his work. He replied:

“I do not know which to put first, the effect of Tuskegee’s work on the Negro, or the effect on the attitude of the white man to the Negro.”

“I do not know which to put first: Tuskegee’s effect on Black people, or its effect on white people’s attitudes toward Black people.”

The race divergence under the system of miseducation was fast getting wider. Under the influence of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea the races are coming into a closer sympathy and into an honourable and helpful relation. As the Negro becomes economically independent, he becomes a responsible part of the Southern life; and the whites so recognize him. And this must be so from the nature of things. There is nothing artificial about it. It is development in a perfectly natural way. And the Southern whites not only so recognize it, but they are imitating it in the teaching of the neglected masses of their own race. It has thus come about that the school is taking a more direct and helpful hold on life in the South than anywhere else in the country. Education is not a thing apart from life—not a “system,” nor a philosophy; it is direct teaching how to live and how to work.

The gap between the races was widening quickly under a system of miseducation. Under the influence of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea, the races are developing greater sympathy and a respectful, helpful relationship. As Black people become economically independent, they become a responsible part of Southern life. White people recognize them as such. And this must happen because of the way things are. There is nothing artificial about it. It is a perfectly natural development. Southern white people not only recognize this development but are also imitating it in teaching the neglected masses of their own race. As a result, schools are having a more direct and helpful effect on life in the South than anywhere else in the country. Education is not separate from life. It is not a “system” or a philosophy. It directly teaches people how to live and work.

To say that Mr. Washington has won the gratitude of all thoughtful Southern white men, is to say that he has worked with the highest practical wisdom at a large constructive task; for no plan for the up-building of the freedman could succeed that ran counter to Southern opinion. To win the support of Southern opinion and to shape it was a necessary part of the task; and in this he has so well succeeded that the South has a sincere and high regard for him. He once said to me that he recalled the day, and remembered it thankfully, when he grew large enough to regard a Southern white man as he regarded a Northern one. It is well for our common country that the day is come when he and his work are regarded as highly in the South as in any other part of the Union. I think that no man of our generation has a more noteworthy achievement to his credit than this; and it is an achievement of moral earnestness of the strong character of a man who has done a great national service.

Mr. Washington has earned the gratitude of all thoughtful Southern white men. This shows that he has brought the greatest practical wisdom to a major task of building something lasting. For no plan to help freed people advance could succeed if it went against Southern opinion. Winning the support of Southern opinion, and shaping it, was a necessary part of the task. He has succeeded so well that the South holds him in sincere and high regard. He once told me that he remembered with gratitude the day he became mature enough to regard a Southern white man as he regarded a Northern one. It is good for our shared country that the day has come when he and his work are held in as high regard in the South as anywhere else in the Union. I think no man of our generation can claim a more noteworthy achievement than this. It is an achievement born of moral earnestness and the strong character of a man who has done a great service to the nation.

Walter H. Page.

Walter H. Page.