The Minneapolis journal. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn.) 1888-1939, 1904-09-16
THE SOULS OF
BLACK FOLKS
LIVES OF PATHOs AND SI1LF-
DENIAL IN THE SOUTH. S
Anguished Cry from Black Man Il
Revelation to One Southerncr-Ex-
Slaves Who Were Loyal to the Death
Pride Even to the Poorhouse. Il
Mrs. Charles N. Crewdson in Philadelphia
Record.

A short time ago, if one from the north
had asked me about my attitude toward
| the black people, I could have answered
| in this fashion: when 1 look back upon
my old life In the south. amid the forms
that people my dreamland, L see. cloud
of black shapes. Many of these are dear
| to memory. I recall them as do, my
pet animals-my faithful dog that ca me
when I called him; my untiring saddle
horse that bore me thru the beautiful
To such a question now my answer is:
| Il have sinned" 3%,e-r.@ ~
| I have read a little black bound VOL
ume, written by a black skinned man. It
lifted the veil of prejudice from my eyes.
1t made me think. --.t%.'..
While lived amid the black folk I
used often to speculate about how 1t felt
to be a negro. Occasionally in my child
1sh ignorance and hardness I, have asked
| some 7toilng servant: aren't your sorry
you are black? Shouldn't you like to be
wh1te?' And I have wondered to see a
swift change Of expression play upon
that thick-featured face-half pain, half
judgment-as the quick answer came:
mo; never wanted to be white. White
folks will have a-lots to answer fur = I
Angushed Cry Of a Negro. 80
Burghardt Du Bots has answered this
question Of white to black for his whole
and anguished cry of a negro who reminds
US that he can sit as an equal at the festal
board that Plato invites congenial spirits
to, they are none the less the response Of
the humblest black soul who never opened
the leaves of a book. For this answer Is
the innate pride Of the human soul, that
recks not of color or condition; it is the
1rrepressible hunger Of all mankind for
sympathy and recognition.
Souls of black folk? I never before
thought of my host of black acquaintance
as genuine personalities; never once real
lied that they. too, were human souls.
They were only servants, conveniences,
black beings. Their life of toll, without
recompense, never struck me as unnat-
ural. The simple practices of their relig-
lon were only something to smile at. The
chief events of their. lives, their sorrow
and losses, only touched me. and passed
on. tga.st 81 a. - = II isSSsssg8%IE4S4S
Now, as I look back upon my black
neighbors, with eyes unveiled, am con
stricken to see that the lives Of
those who so cheerfully ministered to my
happiness were full Of pathos-denial-
often tragedy; and I had been uncon-
scious of all this. AS I summon In reverie
my old acquaintance, one by one, be-
fore me to judge them as individuals, I
am filled with shame at the revelations
they make
Longing for His Home.
The squat, lumpy figure of Jack" rises
before me. Jack had for years rented
little rickety, three-room house from an
1ndulgent landlord. He was shiftless and
depended upon the washing of his pa
tient wife, Tinnie, to pay his rent; but
still Jack evolved human longing and
dared to express it. This great ambition
was to be the owner of the little house
he rented. 'You know, boss" he would |
say, Il planted them yaller roses what
grows in the yard and all them vines on |
the porch, an I've lived in jes' that house
so long that I kinder feel like it b'longs
to me. 1t do seem now, boss you'se got
SO many houses that you jes' might sell
me this one cheap, an let my money go
FUR to pay fur the house, instid O. rent"
1t was merely a joke to Jacks audience
that he could never be made to see that
II his rent was taken as payment for his |
nome, he was getting the house in the
meanwhile scot-free. Only now, the
pathos of 1t appears to me. The yellow |
roses still fiaunt their sunshine and their
gold close by the threshold Of the little |
mouse; yet Jacks one human longing was
unreallzed. But Fate took tho she did
not give, for Virgil, Jacks only son, who
was going to school, was brought one day
dead and mangled to the little door by the
yellow roses, and Jack gave up hts
dreams, moved'out and was lost to his Old
isl
sam that tossed about in the suburbs OIL
the town on the tidal waves of house,
moving.
Giving Herself for Her Children.
VIII a mother give herself for her chill
ureh see now Kate, who used to keep |
watch over my infantie goings and COM
lngs. She once was buxom and conelv.
out hard work and a brood Of eleven IT. |
responsible p1ckantnnies have taken her
youth. ktnd-hearted, blarney-tongued. |
sloW-moving Kate! Her EMPLOYERS cali
ner lazy but wonder if any of them !
81. 70 tnlnk that for the very small
killing herself over the washtub? For |
TINS constant bending over the tub Is WHAT !
INDUCES the consumption to which negro |
women are such ready victims. If one
points this out to Kate she replies: "T
wants my niggers to have good cloes and |
a eddication.'' o'i"
Two of Hates children are really beau-
ties. Their big soft, black ewes roll eho,,+i
ullder long, silken lashes When thav
open their thick red lips to smile-.nS
tney Will do so for nod-thev show shi,,
ing, taultless rows Of pearls. Their skin.
Is Is d warm, reddish-brown hue that has
-, ;ie =, sheen or satin These two children. !
- 49, Icy were IN italy would be artists de
lisht' IN southern town they are hit
nardy W1ldflowers unnoticed- by the wav.
slde-merely pickaninnies. '
Pride Even In the Poor Folks
HOW often do we unlSnowinglv h,,r,;,i
ate mat personal pride that hurns he
,isatii even the ragged garments of tha
oiach lolk. now remember with re-
morse an old slave whose deepest de.ra
ua.iol '"ltnessed-must I confess it?-l
nnmoYed. Uncle Prince STYLED b;nosa1f
Or. Prince Cook In accordanca r,s,tIt
, tltle ne always wore an ancient siJ:.
nat ana faded Prince Albert, and carN
rleo q bundle Of I"yarbs'' under his avn, i
y ncle Pr1nces old master had n.sseI |
INTO the other world: but the old slavat
fingered year after year, growing reehlar
as as the cracks in his cabir grew 1arsar
!, ne nleghooring white people became
.lred OF looking after him and of harbor
lls the 1ear of finding him some winter
l,ioi iilils colo and dead in his open hut
30 they forced upon his proud soul what. |
De'a worse IMAM death-the poor house
- ~ oAcle Prlnce's dignity succumbed
w., ~. - even this humiliation. Holding
lsinisell erect In his tall hat and long
coat, with his bundle of herbs ,1nfer ~. his
g. ~ ne pade me goodbye in his 1sna1
cheerful, courtly manner. Not m,o,d
VI complaint; only proud subterfure
.oout them sick folks at Smiths Grove
th.' want me to come up an doctor .em y
"a broken Spirit is more fatal than
cracked walls and draughts. IInclal
Lrlnce's sojourn in the poorhouse was
& r. Their Gift Of Melody.
mad never before stopped, to think
1oout now much music the s. negro hadI
Drought into southern life. Their soft
l,elouious voices were caroling and