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
The sounding of a bell, he told me, was the signal for the students to
gather in the general assembly hall, and he asked me if I would go. Of
course I would. There were between three and four hundred students
and perhaps all of the teachers gathered in the room. I noticed
that several of the latter were colored. The president gave a talk
addressed principally to newcomers; but I scarcely heard what he said,
I was so much occupied in looking at those around me. They were of all
types and colors, the more intelligent types predominating. The colors
ranged from jet black to pure white, with light hair and eyes. Among
the girls especially there were many so fair that it was difficult to
believe that they had Negro blood in them. And, too, I could not help
noticing that many of the girls, particularly those of the delicate
brown shades, with black eyes and wavy dark hair, were decidedly
pretty. Among the boys many of the blackest were fine specimens of
young manhood, tall, straight, and muscular, with magnificent heads;
these were the kind of boys who developed into the patriarchal
"uncles" of the old slave regime.
When I left the University, it was with the determination to get my
trunk and move out to the school before night. I walked back across
the city with a light step and a light heart. I felt perfectly
satisfied with life for the first time since my mother's death. In
passing the railroad station I hired a wagon and rode with the driver
as far as my stopping-place. I settled with my landlord and went
upstairs to put away several articles I had left out. As soon as
I opened my trunk, a dart of suspicion shot through my heart; the
arrangement of things did not look familiar. I began to dig down
excitedly to the bottom till I reached the coat in which I had
concealed my treasure. My money was gone! Every single bill of it. I
knew it was useless to do so, but I searched through every other coat,
every pair of trousers, every vest, and even each pair of socks. When
I had finished my fruitless search, I sat down dazed and heartsick. I
called the landlord up and informed him of my loss; he comforted me by
saying that I ought to have better sense than to keep money in a trunk
and that he was not responsible for his lodgers' personal effects. His
cooling words brought me enough to my senses to cause me to look and
see if anything else was missing. Several small articles were gone,
among them a black and gray necktie of odd design upon which my heart
was set; almost as much as the loss of my money I felt the loss of my
tie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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