A boys' life of Booker T. WashingtonJackson, Walter Clinton
History
A boys' life of Booker T. Washington
Jackson, Walter Clinton
African American educators -- Biography -- Juvenile literature; Washington, Booker T., 1856-1915 -- Juvenile literature
Washington says also that he learned from Mrs. Ruffner many valuable
lessons in cleanliness, promptness, and order. He says: “Even to this
day, I never see bits of paper scattered around a house or in the street
that I do not want to pick them up at once. I never see a filthy yard
that I do not want to clean it, a paling off a fence that I do not want
to put it on, an unpainted or unwhitewashed house that I do not want to
paint or whitewash it; or a button off one’s clothes, or a grease spot
on them or on a floor, that I do not want to call attention to it.”[5]
It was while working for Mrs. Ruffner that he started his first
“library.” He got an old drygoods box, knocked out one side of it,
nailed it up against the wall, arranged some shelves, and then put into
it every book that he could lay his hands on.
But Booker was restless. He wanted to get started to school. He had not
saved much money, for he had not been working for himself very long, but
he determined to start with what little money he had.
What did his determination mean? Look at your map and you will see that
Hampton is about five hundred miles from Malden. Booker was a boy of
sixteen years. He did not know a soul beyond the borders of his own
community. He had but a few dollars. His mother was not well, and he
doubted very much whether he would ever see her alive again. But he must
go and learn, and his good mother, noble and brave as she was,
encouraged her boy and helped him to get away.
All the people in the community were much interested in his going. While
they had never had a chance, they wanted to encourage this boy who was
so determined to get an education. Some of them would give him a nickel,
some a quarter, and others a handkerchief to show their desire to help
him. By and by the day for his departure came. He put his few dollars in
his pocket, picked up the little satchel containing his few clothes,
said good-by to the neighbors, kissed his weeping mother good-by, and
turned his face towards Hampton.
There was no through train in those days, and he had to travel by
stagecoach as well as by train. He had no idea, when he started, how
costly it was to travel, and he had not gone far before he realized that
he did not have enough money to take him to Hampton. So he walked much
of the way. He would ask for a ride with passers-by, and in this way
made fairly good progress.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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