Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-07-09
BLACK FOLKS. SOULS
A Bit Of Looking Back to Old
Friends.
TALES OF HER M AMMY"
SHAPES AND MEMORIES PLEAS
ING TO RECALL.
Fidelity, Gratitude and Pride, With
Imagination and
Melody.
I am a southerner.

I am southerner.
A short time ago, if one from the north
had asked me about my attitude toward
the black people l could have answered IN
this fashion: When | look back upon my
old life in the south, amid the forms that
people my dreamland, / see a cloud Of
black shapes Many of these are dear to
memory. ! recall them l do my pet
snimals-my faithful dog that came when
I called him, my untiring saddle horse that
bore me through the beautiful southern
woods"
To such a question now my answer is:
81 have sinned"
/ have read little black bound volume
written by a black-skinned man. 1t lifted
the veil of prejudice from my eyes. 1t
made me think.
While l lived amid the black folk I
used often to speculate about how 1t felt
to be Il negro. Occas onally in my childish
ignorance and hardness | have asked some
toiling servant: Aren't you sorry you are
black? Shouldn't you like to be white?"
And l have wondered to see a swift change
of expression play upon that thiCk-fea-
tured face-half pain, half Judgements
the quick answer came: mo; l never want
ed to be white. White folks will have
a-lots TO answer fur"
Burghardt Du Bots has answered this
question of white to black for his whole
race For. though his words are the defiant
and anguished cry of a negro who reminds
us that he can sit as an equal at the fes
tai board that Plato invites congenial
spirits to. they are none the less the re-
Spouse of the humhlcst black soul who
never opened the leaves of a book. For
this answer is the innate pride of the hui
man soul that recks not of color nor condi-
ton; ii Is the irrepressible hunger of all
mankind for sympathy and recognition.
Souls of black folk? l never before
thought of my host of black acquaintance
genuine personalities; never once real
lied that they, too. were human souls They
Were only servants, ConvenienCeS, black
beings. Their life of toll without recon-
pense never struck me as unnatural. The
simple practices of their religion were only
something to smile at. The chief events of
their lives, their sorrow and losses. only
touched me and passed on.
Now as l look back upon my black neigh
bors with eyes unveiled, ! am conscience
stricken to see that the lives of those who
so cheerfully ministered to my happiness
Were full OF pathos, denial often tragedy
and l had been unconscious of all this.
As L summon In reverle my old acquain-
tances, one by one, before me to judge
them as individuals am filled with shame
at the revelations they make.
The squat, lumpy figure of Jack rises
before me. Jack had for years rented HIT
tie, rickety, three-roomed house from an in
dulgent landlord. He was Shiftless and de-
pended upon the washing OF his patient
wife, Tlnnie, to pay his rent: but still Jack
evolved human longing and dared 20 eX-
press IT. This great ambition was to be the
owner OF the little house he rented You
know, boss he would say, II planted them
yaller roses what grows In the yard and all
them vines on the porch. an have lived in
jes that house long that l kinder feel
like il belongs to me. 1t do seem now
boss, you Sc got 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"
A Modern Financier.
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
home he was getting the house in the
meanwhile scot-free. Only now, the pathos
of 1t appears to me. The yellow roses still
haunt their sunshine and their gold close
by the threshold of the little house: yet
Jacks one human longing was unrcaized.
But fate took though she did not give. For