had been attending, but the teachers were usually very incompetent and
my progress was seriously hindered.
The absorbing desire of my life had been to some day graduate from some
institution of learning, but I found myself at eighteen years of age far
from the goal of my ambition. I became alarmed. I realized what it would
mean to grow to manhood in ignorance; I also knew that there were seven
children younger than I to be cared for. I seriously thought the matter
over. I finally broached it to my father, and he consented that I should
try to make a way for myself.
I rented a small farm, trusting that by cultivating it I would be able
to clear enough money to begin my education. I began wrong, for I had in
advance mortgaged my crop. I began with $75, but when the year closed I
had only $10. However, my aspirations were not to be daunted; I was
resolved on going to school.
With this $10 I purchased the necessary books, paid my entrance fee, and
entered the village graded school. I was poorly clad, and much of the
time was without food, but I felt that I could not even ask my father
for assistance because of his responsibility in caring for the younger
children. I was constant, however, in my endeavor to find work, and
finally a companion and I succeeded in getting an old farmhouse about
three miles from the village in which to live. In a measure this suited
me, for I loved the country.
The house was an old, dilapidated one, and I do not see now how we stood
that first severe winter; but though I was in rags and my food was often
roasted potatoes or peas with a little salt, I did not miss a single
day's schooling that year, and great was my joy and satisfaction when,
at the end of the year, I stood at the head of my class.
During this time I had done such work in the surrounding neighborhood as
could be obtained. My Saturdays and afternoons were spent in splitting
rails, chopping wood, driving garden palings, and doing any other work
that would enable me to exist. Although I had stinted myself and had
often gone without food, at the end of the year I was $12 in debt. But
this was not sufficient to make me despair.
When vacation came I immediately sought work, and though I was diligent
in my application to it when I had obtained it, steady employment was
not to be had. My wages were never more than fifty cents a day, but I
often received less. For two years I lived in this way. At the
expiration of that time I decided that it would benefit me to enter a
higher institution of learning. I knew that this would mean that I must
have more remunerative employment.
By some means my attention was directed to the orange industry of
Florida, and in the summer of 1894 I regretfully left my companions and
relatives, went to Deland, Fla., and secured the desired work. The
winter proved to be an unusually cold one, and the orange industry was
greatly hindered; therefore I was soon out of employment, and at the
season of the year when I most needed it. I was not long idle, however,
for the very cause of my loss of work opened another avenue; I was kept
busy chopping wood. Though I went to Florida penniless, at the end of
six months I had saved $60.
It was at Deland that I learned of the magnificent opportunities
afforded earnest young men and women at Tuskegee Institute. I at once
made application to become a student. That morning I did not know that
such a school existed; that night, while I slept, the Southern Railway
was bearing my letter of application to Mr. Washington. My anxiety
almost reached fever-heat during those few intervening days that I
waited for an answer, and my joy was boundless when it came, setting
forth the requirements for admittance. I sent a portion of the money I
had saved to my father. With the rest I bought some necessary clothing,
and left Deland far behind for Tuskegee.
I shall always remember how little and insignificant I felt when I
entered the school-grounds and was told that all those buildings and all
those acres of ground were a part of the Tuskegee Institute. I had read
of it in the circular of information which was sent me when I applied
for admission, but the realization was, to me, almost overpowering.
After paying my entrance fee and purchasing my school-books I had $15
left. Thus I began what has proved to be a "new life."
Fifteen dollars were, of course, an inadequate sum with which to pay my
expenses through the day-school, and so I was permitted to enter the
night-school, as so many others as poor as I had done. This means that I
was given an opportunity to work at some industry during the day and
attend classes at night. I was not only receiving training at an
industry, being provided with food, shelter, and fuel, and receiving
instruction at night, but I was earning enough over my board to be
placed to my credit in the school's treasury to help pay my board when I
should enter the day-school.
My first term was spent at work on Marshall Farm, where the greater
part of the school's farming was at that time done.
When I entered Tuskegee I had no thought of preparing myself for
returning to farm life. Even the word "farm" brought to my mind visions
of dull, hard work and drudgery without comforts. I had not been at the
Tuskegee Institute long, however, before I was led to know that
"agriculture" is the very highest of all industrial callings. I had
never known that agriculture had so many subdivisions, that soils could
be analyzed and treated, that rotation of crops enriched the soil, that
a certain crop planted season after season on the same soil made it
poor, because it was ridding it of some life-giving chemical. To me
soils simply "wore out." But through lectures and practical experiments
my agricultural horizon began to expand, and a sense of the beauty of
the industry grew upon me.
It was to me a marvelous thing to go into the dairy and take milk but
recently milked, pour it into the Sharpless Separator, set the machine
in motion, and behold a stream of rich, sweet cream flow from one avenue
of escape, while a foamy jet of milk passed from another. There, too, I
learned cheese-making and butter-making.
My school life was filled with difficulties because of financial
embarrassments. I was one of the competitors in the first Trinity Church
(Boston) Prize Contest, founded at the school by Dr. E. Winchester
Donald, successor of Phillips Brooks, and rector of Trinity until his
death, and I remember that I was greatly discomfited because the socks I
wore had no feet in them, and my shoes had that afternoon been sewed
with thread blackened with soot.
However, I was the successful contestant, the first winner of the prize
of $25. The next day I provided myself with new shoes and socks. I also
received my diploma that same year, 1897, within two days of receiving
the prize, and was very happy to receive it and the diploma at the same
time.
Two summers and one winter after graduating I taught school at Mamie,
Ala. When I was not teaching I worked on the farm of the family with
which I boarded. For this work I received very little pay, but I had
been taught at Tuskegee that it was better to work for nothing than to
be idle--a Booker T. Washington precept.
The second winter I was first assistant in the Ozark city school, Ozark,
Ala., and was offered the principalship for the next term, but I
declined in order to further pursue postgraduate studies in agriculture
at Tuskegee. I remained there for six months. I then went West, to
Rockford, Ill., to do practical work in that section for the purpose of
strengthening and improving the theory and practise already learned.
It was harvesting season and I soon secured work. I put all my energy
into the work of the rugged Western farm and succeeded admirably in
following the threshing-machine, in husking corn, and in doing the other
farm labors common to Western fall and winter seasons. My first four
months were spent on the farm of a widow. After the harvesting was over
she offered me the farm, with its implements, barns, horses, and dairy
herd, if I would remain and pay her certain percentages of the profits,
but I told her that I was only a student in search of knowledge.
The next spring I secured work with a very progressive Irishman. He was
a farmer, as well as secretary and treasurer of a modern creamery and
butter factory. This work I preferred, because it was along my chosen
line, and of a very high grade.
For one year I worked in this establishment, and was not absent from
duty even one day. My employer once said to me that he had heard and
also read that Negroes were lazy, shiftless, and untrustworthy. He had
not come into contact with enough Negroes to draw his own conclusions,
so he asked me if there were more like me. I told him that I did not
consider myself an exception, but that I had had the advantages of
superior training at Tuskegee. He did not know before that I was a
Tuskegee graduate. He seemed surprised to know that a graduate would
work as a common farm-hand. He said he had found no white ones who
would. I then explained to him that I was seeking a comprehensive
knowledge of farming conditions North and South. I value that year on
those Western farms next to my training at Tuskegee.
I was planning to return to the South and start a farm of my own, when I
was asked by Mr. Washington to join a company of Tuskegee young men who
were wanted to go to Africa for the purpose of experimenting in
cotton-growing under the German Government. It was a call I could not
resist. Here was a chance for the largest possible usefulness. Here I
could have a part in a monumental undertaking, and I gladly agreed to
go. The wages offered were flattering, and all expenses in connection
with the trip were borne by the Kolonial Komittee of the German
Government. The Executive Council of the Institute selected Shepherd L.
Harris, Allen L. Burks, and myself, all graduates of the school, and Mr.
James N. Calloway, a member of the Faculty, who had had charge of the
school's largest farm, and who was selected to head the expedition. We
sailed from New York on November 3, 1900, and reached Togo by way of
Hamburg on December 31, 1900. Later five additional Tuskegee students
joined us, but of the original party I am the only one left. A report of
the beginnings of our work was published after two years, with elaborate
illustrations to commemorate what we had been able to accomplish.
Samples of the cotton made into hose and various other articles were
distributed among those interested in the success of the experiment.
That report may be secured from the Kolonial-Wirtschaftliches Komittee,
Berlin, Germany.
Not long since I sent to Principal Washington a summary of the work we
have been trying to do. He regularly insists that Tuskegee graduates
shall send him reports of what they are doing, and my letter to him was
in response to that request. We keep in touch with Tuskegee and its
work after leaving the institution through a correspondence prized by
every graduate of the school. The summary I include here, as it may be
of interest to the reader:
At the outset it was very difficult to excite any interest at all
in our work on the part of the natives. For some reason they
mistrust every proposition made them by a foreigner, and in the
beginning they would not even accept the gift of cotton-seeds from
us. They claimed that if they should accept our seeds we would come
again and claim our own with usury. Many of the Europeans here said
that the natives would never become interested in the movement. But
we worked on, and now already in the farming districts are hundreds
of native cotton farms. Now they no longer mistrust us, but they
come and ask for cotton-seeds, and a conservative estimate places
the incoming native harvest near the thousand-bale mark. Of course
the native methods are very irrational. They cultivate their cotton
altogether as a secondary crop. But we are content, at the
beginning, to let them cultivate in their own way.
We find distributed through the colony not less than three distinct
species of cotton, with some hybrids and varieties; but none of
these are indigenous, and, having been left in a neglected state
for centuries, are consequently not far removed from nature and are
not so remunerative when put under even the best culture. The seeds
imported from America are not able to survive the greatly changed
conditions of climate. Here is our greatest obstacle. Our course
was plain. If we did not have a plant that exactly suited us, we
had to make it.
The production of a commercial plant is very important. Our present
domestic seeds will yield about four hundred pounds of seed-cotton
per acre, and the character of the fruit and the arrangement upon
the stalk make it very expensive to harvest. Besides, the stalk
grows too much to a tree and is not prolific proportionately, and
the quality of the lint is equal to American "middling." We are
trying to develop a plant that will yield 1,000 pounds of
seed-cotton to the acre, with a lint equal in quality to fully good
"middling" or to Allen's 1-7/8-inch staple.
Now suppose we succeed in making this plant as I have above
outlined; the 4,000 acres under cultivation would then at least
produce 2,000 bales of seed-cotton where they now produce but 1,000
bales. We can see how greatly the annual income of the natives will
be increased. Such a plant is forthcoming.
Through selection and crossing of American and native cottons we
have obtained a new variety, which is satisfactory in every primary
respect. It is more hardy than the average American plant and
fifty per cent more productive than the average native plant. A
sample of the lint of this new, would-be variety was submitted to
the Chamber of Commerce in Berlin, and it was pronounced good in
every way, and brought in January, 1904, about twenty cents a
pound.
There is one feature that I would like to speak about before I have
done with the subject, because I know it will please you. In one of
the letters you wrote me some time ago you advised me to "labor
earnestly, quietly, and soberly, discharging my duty in the way
that would eventually make me one of the most influential persons
in the community." Being faithful in small things is one of the
fundamental principles of Tuskegee, and is what I am able to do
without even striving. It has become natural for me to be faithful,
it matters not how small or insignificant the service. I find
myself to-day possessing much influence in the work in which I am
now engaged.
In order to make secure the work begun and to insure a normal and
well-balanced progress for the future, it was recommended to
institute, along with the present undertaking, what I am pleased to
call "A Cotton-School and Plant-Breeding Station." At this school
are gathered young men from all over the colony, who come for a
two-years' course in modern methods of farming. The boys are to be
taught some of the simple rules and practises of agriculture. The
boys are 45 in number, representing the most intelligent classes;
the station consists of 250 acres of land, 8 oxen, 2 asses, 1
horse, farm implements, cotton-gin, press, etc. Such an institution
appeared to me necessary to the healthy progress of the
undertaking. There will soon be in operation 3 ginning- and
pressing-stations run by steam-power, besides a dozen or more
hand-gins. This, I believe, tells the whole story. My health is
very good. I hope you will write me often, because your letters are
always so interesting and helpful.
That my life has been as useful and successful as it has is due to the
training and inspiration received at Tuskegee Institute, perhaps not so
much to the agricultural department, for I did not finish that course,
but to the general awakening and stimulating influence which permeates
and is a part of the training of Tuskegee students.
And now while I write, and daily as I work, I am prompted on to better
and stronger efforts because of the Tuskegee in embryo that looms before
me. And as I think, and work, and write, I am gratified because of the
assurance that I am only one of that increasing host whose loyal hearts
and useful lives shall make Tuskegee live forever.
VIII
THE STORY OF A TEACHER OF COOKING
BY MARY L. DOTSON
I graduated with the Class of 1900, Tuskegee Institute. It was the
culmination of an event to which my mother and I had long looked
forward.
I was born in 1879, in a small country village in the southwestern part
of Alabama. My mother was the exceptional colored woman of our
community. She was a dressmaker and tailoress and had all the work she
could do. She owned her own home, a quite comfortable one, and earned
continuously from her work a tidy sum of money.
I have always counted myself fortunate to have had such a home and such
a mother. Very few of the colored people about us owned their own homes;
the village school was a poor makeshift, and it was in session only two
to four months in a year--that is, when some one could be secured to
teach it for the very small salary paid. Both my father and mother had
great respect for educationally equipped people, and desired that their
children should have the opportunity to secure educational advantages.
They tried in every possible way to interest the people in their own
welfare, at least to the extent of supplementing the meager
public-school fund, so as to provide decent educational facilities for
the children. This effort failed. My mother had a room added to her
home, and in it conducted, with my sister's help, a school for the
children of the community. Two of my sisters had been sent away to
school, one to Selma and the other to Talladega. In addition to the
school conducted at our home, my mother was able to get the cooperation
of some of the people in other parts of the county, and two other
schools were started. These schools were afterward taken up, and have
since become helpful factors in the life of the people.
My first lessons were given in the home, and my mother always claimed
that I learned quite rapidly. As soon as I was old enough she also made
me take lessons in sewing. Sewing made no appeal to me, however, but
cooking did, and whenever possible I would steal away to my
grandmother's to cook with her. Most of the time I was only permitted to
wash dishes, but after a while I was permitted to help with her
cooking. Soon I was able to make cakes for my father's store. He was
always very proud that his "little" daughter was able to replenish his
stock when it was exhausted.
At eight years of age I was sent to Meridian, Miss., to stay with an
older sister and attend school. The advantages there were far superior
to those provided for me at my home. After remaining two years at
Meridian I went to Memphis, again in search of better school facilities.
I have said that even at my age I had a fondness for cooking. At Memphis
I had my first cooking lesson, this lesson being given along with the
eighth grade work of the public school. I was delighted, but my aunt
refused to allow me to practise in the home, however, and so all the
practise I got was at school.
While in Memphis, a Tuskegee Institute graduate came there to teach in
the colored public schools. Though we had lived in Alabama, we had not,
until that time, heard of the Tuskegee Institute. The loyalty of that
graduate to the school, the stories of the opportunities provided, and
all, delighted my mother, my aunt, and myself, and it was decided that I
should be sent there.
I entered the Tuskegee Institute in December, 1894, and was assigned,
after examination, to the Junior class, the first class of the normal
department. I remained at Tuskegee during the following summer and
worked in the students' dining-room as a waitress. The next year I was
compelled to enter the night-school so as to help lighten my mother's
burden. I knew nothing of the science of foods; nothing at all, at that
time, of anything that indicated that cooking is a real science. None
but girls of the Senior class were then permitted to take cooking
lessons, but I was often able to provide some excuse for visiting the
very small and incompletely furnished room used for that purpose. I
picked up much useful information in that way.
When I reached the A Middle class, next to the Senior class, the young
women of that class were permitted to take cooking lessons.
Now I was to learn cooking. I had long desired the opportunity, and the
chance had come at last. The study of foods was among the first lessons
brought to my attention. While anxious to know all that was to be
taught, I could never see the reasons for knowing. I wanted to cook
food, and that, with me, was the end.
I began to study chemistry in the academic department, and when it was
applied in my cooking lessons my eyes were opened. I now saw much that I
had not dreamed of. A cooking teacher, a noted expert from Wisconsin,
came to the school about that time and lectured not only to the cooking
classes, but to the young women teachers, and to the married women of
the Institute families. I was especially detailed to work with her, and
was put to working out a diet for the students' boarding department.
This instruction, with that of my regular instructor, convinced me that
here was a real profession. I continued until the end of my school days
to carry, along with all of my academic work, progressive work in
cooking.
I had made such progress that when I came to graduate, Mrs. Washington,
who is in charge of the industries for girls, offered me a vacancy in
the cooking division. I did not feel that I was adequate to the
requirements of the place, and so remarked to Mrs. Washington and my
instructor. They recommended that I spend the summer at the Chautauqua
Summer School, New York. I prepared to go immediately following the
Tuskegee commencement exercises. A scholarship was secured for me.
Domestic science teachers of proved efficiency are in charge there. They
were pleased with what I had already been able to accomplish. My work
was with the classes taking courses in chemistry, physiology,
bacteriology, management of classes, and cooking demonstration.
At the end of the summer I felt stronger than ever, and returned to
Tuskegee in the fall with real enthusiasm. I first began my work in the
little room in which I had been taught. Another academic class of girls
had now been admitted to the cooking classes, the three upper ones.
When Dorothy Hall, the building in which all of the industries for girls
are located, was completed, my division was given a suite of rooms, an
assistant was provided, and the work broadened and made more useful than
ever. Under this division we now have a model kitchen, a regular kitchen
in which the practise-cooking of the girls is done, two dining-rooms, a
model bedroom, a model sitting-room, and a bathroom.
Principal Washington has insisted from year to year that, since cooking
is so fundamental, every young woman, in the day-school at least, shall
take lessons in cooking. For the current school year, 1904-'05, 458
young women are receiving instruction.
The course covers, in its entirety, four years, but is so comprehensive
that even one and two years fit young women for the cooking of ordinary
foods. Each of these girls is required to attend upon the outlined
catalogue course of instruction, and in addition, from time to time,
upon lectures bearing upon the several subjects comprehended under
domestic science. The furnishing of the rooms is simple, but ample; the
furniture, in the main, being made by the young women in the
upholstering division. It has been widely praised by all who have seen
it.
After teaching for two years, I requested leave of absence for one year
so as to attend the Domestic-Science School of the Young Women's
Christian Association, Boston. This additional study, of course, helped
me very much. My studies were of foods, of the home, the teaching of
demonstration and settlement classes, etc. Much other useful information
also came my way.