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
I do not wish to mislead my readers into thinking that I led a life
in Jacksonville which would make copy for the hero of a Sunday-school
library book. I was a hail fellow well met with all of the workmen
at the factory, most of whom knew little and cared less about social
distinctions. From their example I learned to be careless about money,
and for that reason I constantly postponed and finally abandoned
returning to Atlanta University. It seemed impossible for me to save
as much as two hundred dollars. Several of the men at the factory were
my intimate friends, and I frequently joined them in their pleasures.
During the summer months we went almost every Monday on an excursion
to a seaside resort called Pablo Beach. These excursions were always
crowded. There was a dancing pavilion, a great deal of drinking, and
generally a fight or two to add to the excitement. I also contracted
the cigar maker's habit of riding around in a hack on Sunday
afternoons. I sometimes went with my cigar maker friends to public
balls that were given at a large hall on one of the main streets. I
learned to take a drink occasionally and paid for quite a number that
my friends took; but strong liquors never appealed to my appetite. I
drank them only when the company I was in required it, and suffered
for it afterwards. On the whole, though I was a bit wild, I can't
remember that I ever did anything disgraceful, or, as the usual
standard for young men goes, anything to forfeit my claim to
respectability.
At one of the first public balls I attended I saw the Pullman car
porter who had so kindly assisted me in getting to Jacksonville. I
went immediately to one of my factory friends and borrowed fifteen
dollars with which to repay the loan my benefactor had made me. After
I had given him the money, and was thanking him, I noticed that he
wore what was, at least, an exact duplicate of my lamented black and
gray tie. It was somewhat worn, but distinct enough for me to trace
the same odd design which had first attracted my eye. This was enough
to arouse my strongest suspicions, but whether it was sufficient for
the law to take cognizance of I did not consider. My astonishment and
the ironical humor of the situation drove everything else out of my
mind.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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