Page:The National Cyclopedia of the Colored Race (1919).djvu/14

 Sense recreative; in another sense, it was work: for he inspected the farm, the orchard, the shops, the school's supplies, taking notes and giving direction. If he rode out into the country, he usually returned with suggestions about a torn-off blind on a Negro church or the neglected garden of a Negro schoolhouse. All the time he was stopping teachers and workmen by the way, giving them new tasks, requesting them to come to his office at a certain hour.

By half past eight he was in his office. For a certain time he read and dictated letters. In the meantime the office boys were flying over the grounds and ringing the telephone bells, summoning Council members, the heads of departments, to a committee meeting, a meeting on the budget, on Commencement, on a new building, on the actions of a student or a teacher. Up to the last second he would keep his mind fixed on his reading or correspondence. He then took up the business in hand, dispensed with it and went back to an article on teaching or on Negro homes or Negro business. If he was slated to make a trip in a buggy or car he kept his work until the clock was on the second. Then he stepped into the conveyance and was gone. Woe unto him who brought a slow vehicle. Even so he would be at work. Between one stop and another on a speaking tour he would sketch a half dozen plans for articles, for grading a lawn, for remodeling a building, for rendering somebody a service. Always and everywhere his plans inculcated this to serve somebody, to make somebody happier. It might be by giving a body something; it was most often by giving one something to do.

This having things to hand, which to some minds, might appear at times extravagant was the very essence of his efficiency, as it is of any man's efficiency. The change of clothing was usually ready to hand. He had push bells and telephones in his office, and push bells and telephones in his study at home. Wherever and whenever he went about the grounds an office boy, sometimes a stenographer, followed at his elbow to summon a workman or to take down a note on some weak point in work manship. His pet diversion was hunting. In the fall he would frequently steal an hour and run out to the woods. To save time he kept a hunting out fit, gun cartridges, etc., at his home and one at the work place of the young man who usually accompanied him, so that whenever the hunting time came he would not loose an hour in getting ready. To some this would be extravagance. To one whose time is precious it is the highest economy.

With this practice of having things to hand he coupled the habit of doing the thing then. His key word was "AT ONCE." Alas! how often Tuskegee teachers have seen that notice: Mr —— will see the Principal "at once." The engagement might not last one third the time it required you to walk to the office; but he attended to the thing there. The errand boy gets the workman there. The stenographer took down the note on the spot. He went hunting then; he made his address then; he signed his letters then. Each minute in the day seemed to have been for him an individual particle, to be dealt with and settled by the time the next one ticked around. For the last year or so he pushed this habit to the extreme, calling for teachers, workmen, council members, who were the advisory board, at midnight, at daybreak, at the meal hour. Several times Mrs. Washington protested, seeking to restrain him. With the genius of premonition he would exclaim, "Let me alone. Let me do it now. I don't know where I'll be tomorrow."

Some local joker tells this story which, though likely enough untrue, illustrates this habit of at tending to one thing at the moment. One after noon in the fall while stealing his hour's hunt he chanced to cross a part of the school's farm in order to reach the woods. The name of the Director of the farming industries is Bridgeforth, that of the young man who went hunting with Dr. Washing ton, Foster. Just as the Tuskegean and Foster entered the woods, a squirrel leaped from the ground and went scrambling up a tree. Quick as a spark Dr. Washington leveled his gun. At the same moment some thought about improving the farm evidently flashed across his mind. Relaxing his gun the slightest bit, he turned to the young man and said:

"Foster, get me Mr. Bridgeforth at once."

Probably few Americans, white or black, have had a higher sense of duty than Booker T. Washington. It mattered little who imposed the task or whether it was great or small, the thing was promised and must be done. Many of us here at Tuskegee feel that nothing but this sense of duty backed by a tremendous will, has kept him alive for the last few years. A year or so ago we were holding our Annual Armstrong Memorial exercises. Dr. Washington had said that he would speak at this exercise, as he always did when he was at home. Early in the afternoon of the appointed day he fell ill with a throbbing headache and his stomach in a turmoil. The doctor put him to bed and ordered him to remain there. At eight o'clock that night he appeared and made his address, though he collapsed in the ante-room immediately afterwards.

Finally, just as he willed to do, to hold on, he could will to let go.

He was great in big things and in little things; great in the world and at home; but he was greatest in the assertion of his tremendous will.