AT THE PUBLIC LIBRARY WITH IRENE
The next time I met my nurse was by chance. I saw her at the public
library near Dr. Newell’s house, where I often went to sit and think
the first few days after my rebirth into the world. She had left the
Newell residence on the night of the day she had put me in the violet
room, being called to some special duty elsewhere. I approached her
with a kindly salutation which she reciprocated in a manner indicating
that she was pleased to meet me. In the meantime I had found out her
name--Irene Davis--and had also found out that an elective course in
a training school for scientific nursing was according to the custom
of the times, which regarded such a course as indispensable to the
education of a liberally trained young woman.
Our conversation drifted along as to my personal comforts until I told
her that I had heard that I was to be called upon to deliver a written
account of my recollections of the past, especially in reference to the
Negro question.
“I suppose Dr. Newell is at the bottom of that,” she remarked, “he is
so intensely interested in the Negro question that he would be the
first one to make the suggestion. I really believe that he refused
to allow you to be taken to the City Hospital when you were found on
his lawn because he almost divined that you might have a message from
another age for him on that subject. The city authorities yielded
to his wishes and assigned me to assist in caring for you at his
residence, instead of at the hospital.
“I found very little to do, however, but would like to recall to you
the beneficial effects of the violet room, which I see had the desired
results. It always does, and many people who can afford it, especially
physicians, are now installing these rooms in their houses for the
benefit of neurotic patients, on whom the violet rays of electricity,
coupled with neurium, a newly discovered chemical preparation, similar
to radium, has a most remarkable effect.”
I remarked that I had taken no medicine and really felt better than
ever in either of my lives. “Well,” said she, laughing, “I trust you
may be able to recall all about the past and give a most excellent
account of it in your paper for the Bureau of Public Utility--and don’t
fail to send me a copy!”
“Are you at all interested in the question,” I asked.
“All Southerners are interested in that question. I am a teacher in a
Sunday School for Negro children and a member of a Young Ladies’ Guild
which was organized expressly for reaching Negro children that may need
help. We visit the families and talk with the parents, impress on them
ideas of economy, direct them in caring for the sick, and instruct them
in the most scientific methods of sanitation. I am really fond of these
people and the happiest moments of my life are spent with them--they
are of a different temperament from us, so mild and good natured,--so
complacent and happy in their religious worship and their music is
simply enchanting!--Don’t you like to hear them sing, Mr. Twitchell?”
I remarked that I was very fond of their singing, and that I had been
delighted with a visit I had recently made to the Dvorak Conservatory,
where the Negro’s musical talent seemed to have been miraculously
developed.
I further remarked, to myself, “How congenial in tastes and sympathy we
seem to be, and how beautiful you are!” She moved me strangely as she
stood there with her black hair, rosy cheeks, large good-natured black
eyes, her Venus-like poise of neck and shoulders, and a mouth neither
large nor small but full of expression, and showing a wealth of pearls
when she laughed--and all this coupled with such noble aspirations, and
such deep womanly sympathy.
I said to her, “Miss Davis, I am certainly glad to learn that our
sentiments on the Negro question coincide so thoroughly and if any
encouragement were needed, I should certainly feel like offering it, as
a stimulus in your efforts.”
“All humanity needs encouragement,” she replied, “and I am human; and
so are these people around us who are of a different race. They need
encouragement and in my humble way I hope to be of some service to
them. Their chances have not been as favorable as ours, but they have
been faithful and true with the talents they have.”
“So I understand you are assisting in this work more from a sense of
duty than as a diversion?” I observed.
“Yes, that is true,” she said, “but nevertheless I really get
considerable recreation in it. I find these people worthy of assistance
and competent to fill many places that they otherwise could not but for
the help of our Guild.”
“So you have found that success does not always come to the worthy,”
I suggested, “if those who are worthy have no outside influence? I
can remember people who worked hard all their lives for promotion and
who not only did not get it, but often witnessed others less skilled
and deserving than themselves pushed forward ahead of them. This was
especially true of the Negro race in my time. The Negroes were told
that Negro ability would sell for as much in the market as white, but
while this was encouraging in some respects and true in many cases, it
could by no means be laid down as a rule.”
“I agree with you,” she said, “in part; for the feeling no doubt
prevails among some people that the lines of cleavage should move us
naturally to do more for our own than for a different race, and that
spirit occasionally crops out, but the spirit of helpfulness to Negroes
has now become so popular that it permeates all classes and there is
practically no opposition to them.”
“You are a long way removed from the South of the past,” said I, “where
to have done such work as you are engaged in would have disgraced you,
and have branded you for social ostracism.”
She replied that there was no criticism at all for engaging in such
work but only for doing more for one race than another.
“You Georgians had degenerated in my day,” I remarked. “The Southern
colonies under such men as Oglethorpe seemed to have higher ideals
than had their descendants of later times. Oglethorpe was opposed to
slavery and refused to allow it in the Colony of Georgia while he was
governor; he was also a friend to the Indians and to Whitfield in
his benevolent schemes, but the Georgian of my day was a different
character altogether from the Oglethorpe type. He justified slavery and
burned Negroes at the stake, and the ‘Cracker class’ were a long ways
removed from the Oglethorpe type of citizenship, both in appearance and
intelligence. I notice, too, Miss Davis, that you never use the words
‘colored people’ but say ‘Negro,’ instead.”
“That is because these people themselves prefer to be called Negroes.
They are proud of the term Negro and feel that you are compromising if
you refer to them as ‘colored people.’”
“That is quite a change, too,” said I, “from the past; for in my time
the race did not like the term Negro so well because it sounded so much
like ‘nigger,’ which was a term of derision. I notice that this term
also has become obsolete with you--another sign of progress. In fact,
I fear that the ideas I had in 1906, when I started on my trip to work
as a missionary among the Negroes, would be laughed at now, so far
have you progressed beyond me. Indeed, I am quite confused at times in
trying to conform to my new conditions.”
At this juncture she suggested that she had almost broken an engagement
by chatting with me so long, and would have to hurry off to meet
it. In taking her departure she remarked that perhaps it was worth
while to break an engagement to talk with one who had had so unusual
an experience. “I may be quite an unusual character,” said I, “but
probably too ancient to be of interest to so modern a person as
yourself.”
She did not reply to this, but left with a smile and a roguish twinkle
in her eye.
I found on inquiry at the library that Negroes in the South were now
allowed the use of the books, and that they were encouraged to read by
various prizes, offered especially for those who could give the best
written analyses of certain books which were suggested by the library
committee.