The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored ManJohnson, James Weldon
General
The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man
Johnson, James Weldon
African American men -- Fiction; Racially mixed people -- Fiction
to another: "Wat's de mattah wid you an' yo' fr'en' Sam?" and the
other came back like a flash: "Ma fr'en'? He ma fr'en'? Man! I'd go to
his funeral jes' de same as I'd go to a minstrel show." I have since
learned that this ability to laugh heartily is, in part, the salvation
of the American Negro; it does much to keep him from going the way of
the Indian.
The business places of the street along which we were passing
consisted chiefly of low bars, cheap dry-goods and notion stores,
barber shops, and fish and bread restaurants. We, at length, turned
down a pair of stairs that led to a basement and I found myself in an
eating-house somewhat better than those I had seen in passing; but
that did not mean much for its excellence. The place was smoky, the
tables were covered with oilcloth, the floor with sawdust, and from
the kitchen came a rancid odor of fish fried over several times, which
almost nauseated me. I asked my companion if this was the place where
we were to eat. He informed me that it was the best place in town
where a colored man could get a meal. I then wanted to know why
somebody didn't open a place where respectable colored people who had
money could be accommodated. He answered: "It wouldn't pay; all
the respectable colored people eat at home, and the few who travel
generally have friends in the towns to which they go, who entertain
them." He added: "Of course, you could go in any place in the city;
they wouldn't know you from white."
I sat down with the porter at one of the tables, but was not hungry
enough to eat with any relish what was put before me. The food was not
badly cooked; but the iron knives and forks needed to be scrubbed, the
plates and dishes and glasses needed to be washed and well dried. I
minced over what I took on my plate while my companion ate. When we
finished, we paid the waiter twenty cents each and went out. We walked
around until the lights of the city were lit. Then the porter said
that he must get to bed and have some rest, as he had not had six
hours' sleep since he left Jersey City. I went back to our lodging
house with him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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