"How Tuskegee took Dr. Washington's death can probably best be appreciated by an account of what his life meant among his teachers. Officially he was a stern and exacting task master. A tireless worker himself, he imposed heavy tasks upon others. In the home, however, he had a genius for cheering by little kindnesses and by a thoughtful word. Now he would send around a basket of vegetables from his garden, now a cut of one of his pigs which he had killed and in which he took great delight. "People who sent books and pictures to Tuskegee can hardly realize what a double pleasure they were shipping: the pleasure they gave him and others through him. He would have the boxes opened and books and pictures brought in to his office. Then from all his heaps of correspondence, from business engagements, from matters of national importance, he would turn aside and go through these himself, culling them out. He would sort a pile here for this family; one there for another, according to what he considered would suit each. Many a time one could scarcely find a place to step in his office for the pictures and books. In all things he received, but to share. "Then he had a way of kicking organizations to pieces for a few minutes. If some rural school had a creditable exhibit he would order that the senior class, 150 strong, should be taken there, whether it was one mile or ten miles away. He would order the class out to see how some poor, illiterate farmer had raised a bumper crop of peas, corn, sugar cane, and peanuts, how he surrounded himself with conveniences, both inside and outside the home. Now he would declare a half holiday; now he would allow the students to sleep a half-hour later in the morning. "In the same way the teachers would get an outing once or twice a year, sometimes at night, sometimes in the day. As the teachers are on duty for both day and night school, and as the students usually rise at 5:30 and breakfast at 6, these little breaks were windfalls. They sent each one back to his labors with a smile. He knew the value of change and the psychology of cheer. No wonder then that when death closed his eyes both teachers and students went about heavy of limb and with eyes that told too plainly what the heart felt. "Just as he touched the students and teachers with little thoughtful deeds so he touched the town and State, both white and black. One feature of his funeral illustrated how complete had been his triumph over narrow prejudices. He was always talking about the white man up the hollow, back in the woods. How many times have I heard him urge picturesquely upon gatherings of teachers to 'win that old fellow who, when you begin to talk Negro education and Negro schoolhouse, scratches his head, leans to one side, and looks far away. That's the man,' he would say, 'that you've got to convince that Negro education is not a farce.'