Martin Luther King Jr. Day Anthology - - (comprehension books .TXT) 📗

but at the present moment it was almost a matter of life and death to her—certainly the matter of earning a living—to secure the appointment.

 

The other candidate was a young man who in former years had been one of Miss Noble’s brightest pupils. When he had finished his course in the grammar school, his parents, with considerable sacrifice, had sent him to a college for colored youth. He had studied diligently, had worked industriously during his vacations, sometimes at manual labor, sometimes teaching a country school, and in due time had been graduated from his college with honors.

He had come home at the end of his school life, and was very naturally seeking the employment for which he had fitted himself.

He was a “bright” mulatto, with straight hair, an intelligent face, and a well-set figure. He had acquired some of the marks of culture, wore a frock-coat and a high collar, parted his hair in the middle, and showed by his manner that he thought a good deal of himself. He was the popular candidate among the progressive element of his people, and rather confidently expected the appointment.

 

The meeting of the committee was held in the Methodist church, where, in fact, the grammar school was taught, for want of a separate schoolhouse. After the preliminary steps to effect an organization, Mr. Gillespie, who had been elected chairman, took the floor.

 

“The principal business to be brought befo’ the meet’n’ this evenin’,” he said, “is the selection of a teacher for our grammar school for the ensuin’ year. Two candidates have filed applications, which, if there is no objection, I will read to the committee. The first is from Miss Noble, who has been the teacher ever since the grammar school was started.”

 

He then read Miss Noble’s letter, in which she called attention to her long years of service, to her need of the position, and to her affection for the pupils, and made formal application for the school for the next year. She did not, from motives of self-respect, make known the extremity of her need; nor did she mention the condition of her health, as it might have been used as an argument against her retention.

 

Mr. Gillespie then read the application of the other candidate, Andrew J. Williams. Mr. Williams set out in detail his qualifications for the position: his degree from Riddle University; his familiarity with the dead and living languages and the higher mathematics; his views of discipline; and a peroration in which he expressed the desire to devote himself to the elevation of his race and assist the march of progress through the medium of the Patesville grammar school. The letter was well written in a bold, round hand, with many flourishes, and looked very aggressive and overbearing as it lay on the table by the side of the sheet of small note-paper in Miss Noble’s faint and somewhat cramped handwriting.

 

“You have heard the readin’ of the applications,” said the chairman. “Gentlemen, what is yo’ pleasure?”

 

There being no immediate response, the chairman continued: “As this is a matter of consid’able importance, involvin’ not only the welfare of our schools, but the progress of our race, an’ as our action is liable to be criticized, whatever we decide, perhaps we had better discuss the subjec’ befo’ we act. If nobody else has anything to obse’ve, I will make a few remarks.”

 

Mr. Gillespie cleared his throat, and, assuming an oratorical attitude, proceeded:

 

“The time has come in the history of our people when we should stand together. In this age of organization the march of progress requires that we help ourselves, or be forever left behind. Ever since the war we have been sendin’ our child’n to school an’

educatin’ ‘em; an’ now the time has come when they are leavin’ the schools an’ colleges, an’ are ready to go to work. An’ what are they goin’ to do? The white people won’t hire ‘em as clerks in their sto’s an’ factories an’ mills, an’ we have no sto’s or factories or mills of our own. They can’t be lawyers or doctors yet, because we haven’t got the money to send ‘em to medical colleges an’ law schools. We can’t elect many of ‘em to office, for various reasons. There’s just two things they can find to do—

to preach in our own pulpits, an’ teach in our own schools. If it wasn’t for that, they’d have to go on forever waitin’ on white folks, like their fo’fathers have done, because they couldn’t help it. If we expect our race to progress, we must educate our young men an’ women. If we want to encourage ‘em to get education, we must find ‘em employment when they are educated. We have now an opportunity to do this in the case of our young friend an’ fellow-citizen, Mr. Williams, whose eloquent an’ fine-lookin’ letter ought to make us feel proud of him an’ of our race.

 

“Of co’se there are two sides to the question. We have got to consider the claims of Miss Noble. She has been with us a long time an’ has done much good work for our people, an’ we’ll never forget her work an’ frien’ship. But, after all, she has been paid for it; she has got her salary regularly an’ for a long time, an’

she has probably saved somethin’, for we all know she hasn’t lived high; an’, for all we know, she may have had somethin’ left her by her parents. An’ then again, she’s white, an’ has got her own people to look after her; they’ve got all the money an’ all the offices an’ all the everythin’,—all that they’ve made an’ all that we’ve made for fo’ hundred years,—an’ they sho’ly would look out for her. If she don’t get this school, there’s probably a dozen others she can get at the North. An’ another thing: she is gettin’ rather feeble, an’ it ‘pears to me she’s hardly able to stand teachin’ so many child’n, an’ a long rest might be the best thing in the world for her.

 

“Now, gentlemen, that’s the situation. Shall we keep Miss Noble, or shall we stand by our own people? It seems to me there can hardly be but one answer. Self-preservation is the first law of nature. Are there any other remarks?”

 

Old Abe was moving restlessly in his seat. He did not say anything, however, and the chairman turned to the other member.

 

“Brother Cotten, what is yo’ opinion of the question befo’ the board?”

 

Mr. Cotten rose with the slowness and dignity becoming a substantial citizen, and observed:

 

“I think the remarks of the chairman have great weight. We all have nothin’ but kind feelin’s fer Miss Noble, an’ I came here to-night somewhat undecided how to vote on this question. But after listenin’ to the just an’ forcible arguments of Brother Glaspy, it ‘pears to me that, after all, the question befo’ us is not a matter of feelin’, but of business. As a business man, I am inclined to think Brother Glaspy is right. If we don’t help ourselves when we get a chance, who is goin’ to help us?”

 

“That bein’ the case,” said the chairman, “shall we proceed to a vote? All who favor the election of Brother Williams—”

 

At this point Old Abe, with much preliminary shuffling, stood up in his place and interrupted the speaker.

 

“Mr. Chuhman,” he said, “I s’pose I has a right ter speak in dis meet’n? I S’POSE I is a member er dis committee?”

 

“Certainly, Brother Johnson, certainly; we shall be glad to hear from you.”

 

“I s’pose I’s got a right ter speak my min’, ef I is po’ an’

black, an’ don’ weah as good clo’s as some other members er de committee?”

 

“Most assuredly, Brother Johnson,” answered the chairman, with a barber’s suavity, “you have as much right to be heard as any one else. There was no intention of cuttin’ you off.”

 

“I s’pose,” continued Abe, “dat a man wid fo’teen child’n kin be ‘lowed ter hab somethin’ ter say ‘bout de schools er dis town?”

 

“I am sorry, Brother Johnson, that you should feel slighted, but there was no intention to igno’ yo’ rights. The committee will be please’ to have you ventilate yo’ views.”

 

“Ef it’s all be’n an’ done reco’nized an’ ‘cided dat I’s got de right ter be heared in dis meet’n’, I’ll say w’at I has ter say, an’ it won’t take me long ter say it. Ef I should try ter tell all de things dat Miss Noble has done fer de niggers er dis town, it’d take me till ter-morrer mawnin’. Fer fifteen long yeahs I has watched her incomin’s an’ her outgoin’s. Her daddy was a Yankee kunnel, who died fighting fer ou’ freedom. She come heah when we—yas, Mr. Chuhman, when you an’ Br’er Cotten—was jes sot free, an’ when none er us didn’ have a rag ter ou’ backs. She come heah, an’ she tuk yo’ child’n an’ my child’n, an’ she teached ‘em sense an’ manners an’ religion an’ book-l’arnin’. When she come heah we didn’ hab no chu’ch. Who writ up No’th an’ got a preacher sent to us, an’ de fun’s ter buil’ dis same chu’ch-house we’re settin’ in ter-night? Who got de money f’m de Bureau to s’port de school? An’ when dat was stop’, who got de money f’m de Peabody Fun’? Talk about Miss Noble gittin’ a sal’ry! Who paid dat sal’ry up ter five years ago? Not one dollah of it come outer ou’ pockets!

 

“An’ den, w’at did she git fer de yuther things she done? Who paid her fer de gals she kep’ f’m throwin’ deyse’ves away? Who paid fer de boys she kep’ outer jail? I had a son dat seemed to hab made up his min’ ter go straight ter hell. I made him go ter Sunday-school, an’ somethin’ dat woman said teched his heart, an’

he behaved hisse’f, an’ I ain’ got no reason fer ter be ‘shame’ er ‘im. An’ I can ‘member, Br’er Cotten, when you didn’ own fo’

houses an’ a fahm. An’ when yo’ fus wife was sick, who sot by her bedside an’ read de Good Book ter ‘er, w’en dey wuzn’ nobody else knowed how ter read it, an’ comforted her on her way across de col’, dahk ribber? An’ dat ain’ all I kin ‘member, Mr. Chuhman!

When yo’ gal Fanny was a baby, an’ sick, an’ nobody knowed what was de matter wid ‘er, who sent fer a doctor, an’ paid ‘im fer comin’, an’ who he’ped nuss dat chile, an’ tol’ yo’ wife w’at ter do, an’ save’ dat chile’s life, jes as sho’ as de Lawd has save’

my soul?

 

“An’ now, aftuh fifteen yeahs o’ slavin’ fer us, who ain’t got no claim on her, aftuh fifteen yeahs dat she has libbed ‘mongs’ us an’ made herse’f one of us, an’ endyoed havin’ her own people look down on her, aftuh she has growed ole an’ gray wukkin’ fer us an’

our child’n, we talk erbout turnin’ ‘er out like a’ ole hoss ter die! It ‘pears ter me some folks has po’ mem’ries! Whar would we ‘a’ be’n ef her folks at de No’th hadn’ ‘membered us no bettuh?

An’ we hadn’ done nothin’, neither, fer dem to ‘member us fer. De man dat kin fergit w’at Miss Noble has done fer dis town is unworthy de name er nigger! He oughter die an’ make room fer some ‘spectable dog!

 

“Br’er Glaspy says we got a’ educated young man, an’ we mus’ gib him sump’n’ ter do. Let him wait; ef I reads de signs