в 957,858
в
остава


PROPERTY O
University of
Michigan
Libraries,
ARTES SCIENTIA VERITAS








WORLDS OF COLOR


BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Suppression of the African Slave Trade to the United States
of America (Harvard Historical Studies, No. 1, 1896)
The Philadelphia Negro (Publication of the University of Pennsyl-
vania Series on Political Economy and Public Law, No. 14, 1899)
The Souls of Black Folk (1903)
John Brown (1909)
Quest of the Silver Fleece ( a novel, 1911)
The Negro (Home University Library, 1915)
Darkwater: Voices From Within the Vail (1920)
The Gift of Black Folk: The Negro in the Making of America
(1924)
Dark Princess (a novel, 1928)
Black Reconstruction in America: 1860-1880 (1935)
Black Folk: Then and Now (1939)
Dusk and Dawn: An Autobiography (1940)
Color and Democracy: Colonies and Peace (1945)
The World and Africa (1947)
In Battle for Peace (1952)
The Ordeal of Mansart. First Volume of trilogy, The Black Flame
(1957)
Mansart Builds a School. Volume Two of trilogy, The Black Flame
(1959)


The Black Flame
A Trilogy
BOOK THREE
WORLDS
OF
COLOR
By W.E.B. DU BOIS
MAINSTREAM PUBLISHERS: New York
1961


828
Copyright 1961 by
D817 avro
W. E. B. DU BOIS
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Printing, April, 1961
MAINSTREAM PUBLISHERS
832 Broadway, New York 3, N. Y.
CZ 209
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.


ات
El
cat si
in
CON T E N T S
page
I. The American Negro's World
II. The Color of England
III. The Color of Europe
IV. The Color of Asia
V. Color in the West Indies
VI. The Conference
VII. The Southern Worker
VIII. The Free North
IX. The Itinerant Preacher
X. Bishop Wilson
XI. Again World War
XII. Black America Fights Again
XIII. Roosevelt Dies
XIV. The Nations Unite
XV. The Attack on Mansart
XVI. The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
XVII. Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
105
131
147
162
184
199
214
233
250
272


XVIII. Back to Africa
XIX. The Sanctuary of Marriage
XX. Death
290
305
325


TO ARTHUR EDWARD MCFARLANE II
My Great Grandson





CHAPTER I
THE AMERICAN NEGRO'S WORLD
The Black Mansarts were descended from that Tom Mansart
who in 1876 was lynched in Charleston, S. C., for a crime he did
not commit. His son Manuel, born the night of his father's death,
was educated at Atlanta University, a colored college in Georgia,
and became a teacher. He had four children-three boys and a girl.
All but one had done fairly well: his eldest boy was a rich Chicago
politician; his second son was a judge in New York City. His
daughter was married to an ambitious young preacher. One son,
literally almost beaten into crime, had been hanged.
Manuel Mansart, after teaching in the public schools of Georgia,
had become president of the Colored College and developed it
slowly into a good and growing institution of learning. His chief
helper in this work was his assistant, Jean Du Bignon, a "white
Black Girl" from New Orleans; that is, a well educated young
white woman who was classed as "Colored,” because she had a Ne-
gro great-grandfather.
Manuel Mansart was sixty years of age in 1936. He was begin-
ning to feel the pall of age. Perhaps this was more mental than
physical. Had he not long regarded sixty as "old" he might not
have noticed the slightly retarded reflexes and the easier fatigue;
but as it was, Life seemed suddenly to raise warning of its inevitable
end and of things which must be done and plans which shrieked
for final laying.
The First World War, the Depression and the New Deal had
shaken Mansart to the depths of his being. All the old certainties
were gone-all that neat little world with its good God, bad men
and hovering angels. Even work and wage, wealth and poverty,
money and debt became wavering concepts. What now was this
thing called the “Negro Problem" at which all his life he had been
working? He knew the details of a social “problem”; now he
wanted to see it entire and try better to grasp it. These colored col-


10
WORLDS OF COLOR
leges, for instance, of one of which he was president; there were a
score in all, one or more in each Southern state. They were called
“Land Grant,” because they were born of the idea of land granted
by the federal government to the states for encouraging popular
education. As in all efforts in the South, from the beginning they
faced the Negro. First, they became a simple problem of graft,
how to divert these federal funds mainly to the whites. But the
silly Negroes protested, as if they had any real right to federal in-
come!
There followed a phase of deliberate cheating: founding cheap
colored schools, flimsy and scantily built, half-manned and run
by black stoolpigeons owned by white grafters. Protests came from
honest Southern white educators and from federal officials, and of
course from Negroes. Rivalry rose with the better known private
colored colleges like Fisk, Atlanta, and Talladega. Desperate effort
in Washington kept inspectors or even cabinet officials from having
any real power to compel the white South to treat Negro state
education fairly. Under the sacred aegis of “States Rights,” the
cheating of Negroes flourished in education as in so many other
facets of life.
At the same time a nation-wide crusade had long been growing
to limit, reduce and in part eliminate the standard type of Southern
Negro college, built on New England models. They began to droop,
curtail and disappear. In their place the South tried to foist on
the Negro, state and federally supported “Land Grant" colleges.
But this program compelled the state gradually to let these institu-
tions develop into real centers of learning.
So the "separate but equal” policy reigned, which first insured
that black state colleges exist but be poorer than white state schools.
Then, when states, pushed by white voters, began to make white
public schools better and Land Grant colleges large and elaborate,
Negro colleges necessarily became larger and better equipped.
Such colleges could not be run by ignorant stoolpigeons and
grafters.
A fight ensued which evolved a new type of race politician-
a colored man, fairly well educated, honest in handling funds, and
efficient; ambitious for the rise of his people to equal status with
the whites; and yet schooled or schooling himself to ask less than
he wanted; or even vehemently to deny many natural aims. Booker


The American Negro's World
11
'nigging but politby the govern
Washington was his prototype, but he went far beyond this be-
ginning of manipulation of whites by blacks in the South. Often
this made die-hard Southerners furious, but what could they do?
A newly elected governor of Florida faced the old Tuskegee-trained
head of the sick Colored State College with a blunt ukase: "No
'nigger president is worth $5,000 a year!" The colored man said
nothing but politely presented his excellent budget to the State
Board appointed by the governor. Eventually the Board approved
it, including the $5,000 salary!
So in North Carolina, the little brown president of the colored
Agricultural and Mechanical College asked the governor for a
herd of cattle. The governor exploded:
“'Niggers can't take care of cattle. They're too careless and
dumb. I won't waste the state's money on such a project.”
The solemn little brown man agreed. “Governor, you're abso
lutely right! My people know nothing about raising cattle. Of
course, if they could get some training it would be a great thing
for North Carolina."
They got "a little training" and before the governor left office
a herd of cattle from the Colored State College won first prize at
the State Fair.
It was an extraordinary game and the presidents of the colored
state schools when they met each other, laughed themselves to tears
at their experiences in making white morons do what they were
determined not to do. But the game also had its risks and tragedies;
sometimes a Negro president found himself replaced by a less
scrupulous rival who bid lower for power. Sometimes an honest
man inadvertently lost his own soul like one of the black presidents
of a large school whose reach had extended his grasp and who
explained to a critic of his servility: “You know, Sir, that is part
of my 'stragedy.'”
In the background ever loomed black public opinion which
flared unexpectedly in the path of many a black educational politi-
cian who proved too yielding in letting down the standards of the
colored school. Then, too, among the whites was rising a type of
white educator and administrator who hated lying and cheating
to keep Negroes “in their places.” Like old Dr. Baldwin of the
white University of Georgia, they believed the Negro, let alone,
would sink naturally to his inferior level. They were ashamed to


12
WORLDS OF COLOR
join in forcing him down, especially in cases where they had to
admit undeniable Negro superiority. Continually, such idealists
sought to yield to Negro pressure and even offer them educational
progress which they had not yet dared to demand. Sometimes such
innovators succeeded. Often, they were discarded and went North
in search of civilization.
It was a great game and Mansart enjoyed it. He knew many
of the colored presidents. He wanted to know more. He had visited
some of their schools. He wanted to visit all. So he took a trip after
sixteen years' work, and visited colored schools, ending with a
biennial meeting of the Colored Land Grant College presidents,
in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, at Southern University in the spring
of 1936.
As he sat in the beautiful and well-planned auditorium of this
school whose budget for buildings this year amounted to more than
a million dollars, he looked around with mounting astonishment.
Huey Long, governor of Louisiana, and that fine-featured brown
man yonder, had planned this thing. The brown president was
northern-trained with an excellent brain. In fact, as Mansart looked
he saw other types of the new Negro educator in the South who
were not so much teachers as social statesmen, building a new cul-
ture on a singular bi-racial basis.
As he sat, Jean Du Bignon coached him. Jean was his private
secretary and assistant. She was white but black, a woman of 36,
with that slight touch of Negro blood which classed her as “col-
ored.” She was well-educated and had worked for Mansart since
he became president in 1920. She had wide acquaintance with the
college presidents. She said: “The small, well-dressed yellow man
moving quickly and continuously among all is from West Virginia
Institute and is the brains of this group. In his state he ranks
among the best administrators, black or white. He thinks and
knows. He has all the various intricate problems of all at his
fingers' ends. He knows political Washington, too, and pulls the
strings.
"His college is not conspicuously built but it has a well-trained
faculty.
“He is talking now to another type of man, Gandy of Virginia.
Gandy is solidly built in mind and body. He moves and speaks
slowly and with dignity. The officials of his state deeply respect


The American Negro's World
nd treat him withe asks for some action on vielding for the
him and treat him with careful courtesy. On him they try no
'nigger' jokes and when he asks for some action or policy they know
it is so carefully thought out and buttressed, that yielding for the
most part is only a matter of time. Thence came the finely con-
structed, carefully located and functionally excellent buildings on
his Petersburg campus, and above all a faculty of highly paid and
well-educated men and women.
“The black man from North Carolina is not so well-trained as
many of his colleagues and complacently admits it. But he has just
won a singular battle, like many other similar bouts in the past
twenty years which were slowly culminating in a major campaign
of victory. Just as Negro public schools were at first invariably
situated in slums and back alleys, so the great Colored Land Grant
colleges were seldom located on main thoroughfares but usually
hidden in woods or near swamps, on land which netted former
white owners a pretty penny. But the college at Greensboro had
just last year emerged on the main northern and southern highway,
where the wayfaring man though a fool had to notice it. Here, too,
was planted that chemical laboratory long demanded-how it hap-
pened none seemed to know-and the black president said nothing
but smiled blandly."
Jean reminded Mansart at lunch that there was no represen-
tative of the poor and confused Colored Land Grant College of
South Carolina. This was a Negro defeat. For years Negroes at-
tended and even taught in the University of South Carolina along
with whites. Displaced by force and fraud, with the help of the
federal government, new leaders appeared and separate colored
schools. The man who started higher Negro education in this state
with federal aid was a typical Southern gentleman, white in color,
and carrying in his veins the proudest blood of Carolina; yet
Thomas Miller admitted and boasted of his Negro strain. Tillman
and Blease fought him to his death, disfranchised his people and
drove him into exile.
Mansart remembered him. The college he founded eventually
became the playground of white and black grafters, and totters
today under the displeasure and neglect of Byrnes, once Supreme
Court Justice, then Secretary of State and governor. Yet in
this very state the groundswell against race caste in education
began, and it may yet prove, thought Mansart, that white South


14
WORLDS OF COLOR
Carolina was too successful in fighting blacks.
The man who once headed the Negro Land Grant College in
Florida sat beside Mansart at lunch. He was a strong, independent
man, a graduate of Oberlin, who had just been replaced by a more
compliant Negro. Young had demanded independence and expan-
sion for this school which the state authorities, already incurring
criticism for yielding too much to this "impudent darky," had
refused and hoped to secure more complacency from the new ap-
pointee. But to appease the black public and answer Northern
criticism from tourists, they had just given the school the largest
appropriation in history. Mansart had seen the fine library and
modern hospital which they were building on the campus. He
smiled as Young told him of his new job in Missouri, where a
Negro grafter had just died and the voting colored citizens had
revolted and demanded an outstanding scholar to head the school.
What was "impudent" for Florida proved attractive to Mis-
souri.
Mansart came to know Henry Hunt of North Carolina who
was just transferring from a private church school to a state in-
stitution. He was thin and tall and looked like a poor white,
which led to endless complications. But Hunt was cool, honest
and persistent. He was a trained administrator with but one
purpose-his people's best good. He smiled at Mansart wryly.
"I've got a Board of complete sons-of-bitches, but they're cheap
and inexperienced whites. If I let one steal a hundred dollars, he'll
vote through five thousand dollars worth of needed repairs. It's
their habit of direct insult in dealing with us, that rankles. But,"
he added philosophically, “I can keep still in seven different
languages."
Jean introduced Mansart to Trenholm of the state school at
Montgomery, Alabama. He was young, alert and had degrees
from two excellent Northern colleges. In his battle for a Negro
college he had lost and won. Here in Alabama between the Cot-
ton Belt and the iron and coal mines, on the very site of Booker
Washington's plan for industrial training of Negroes, he was
stopped in his tracks by white trade unions from teaching Negroes
trades. White political power would not permit him to teach the
building trades, mining, weaving or spinning nor any modern
industrial techniques; so he built a teachers' college and secured


The American Negro's World
it was a singulablem? They thering suced by the art
as some sort of compensation adequate buildings, good equipment
and an overflowing body of students. Here was another Pyrrhic
battle for the superior white race. Mansart spent an hour dis-
cussing Trenholm's problems after lunch. He was fascinated
by the music program of the college led by Trenholm's wife.
From Mississippi came not its Negro leaders but two teachers
from a small and almost forgotten school. Alcorn had once
seen a future, but when the Negroes lost political power in 1876
it was neglected and the black folk under Isaiah Montgomery
began a singular experiment in race segregation as an answer to
the Negro problem. They founded the Negro city of Mound
Bayou, and dreamed of furthering such experiments. The enter-
prise was widely hailed and publicized by the white world, but
Negroes were not so unanimous. They whispered: what can a
black town do in a white state where the blacks have no vote?
Little or nothing, the Negro leaders themselves admitted; but all
the more doggedly they maintained that their federal citizenship
supported by membership in the great Republican Party would
eventually restore the vote to the black majority of Mississippi,
and let black towns, black banks and black industry flourish un-
hindered in the state. They fought long and hard and lost
even their vote inside the Republican Party. The representatives
from Alcorn reflected this. They were well-dressed and polite but
silent. What could they say?
One man who addressed the presidents in the afternoon ses-
sion attracted Mansart especially. Jean knew him well, but for
some undisclosed reason did not like him and did not introduce
him to Mansart. Hale of Tennessee was the colored son of a
man once governor of his state and related to many of the first
families. This relationship was well known and he openly used
it for political power. Whatever Hale demanded for his Negro
school he usually got. The school rose rapidly in size, power
and equipment. He built one of the best stadiums for athletes in
the South. He was a ruthless dictator on his campus, allowing
no one a word or act without his personal permission. Yet he
worshipped education and drove his pupils, his teachers and his
own children. His career brought hatred on both sides of the
color line. He handled state money carelessly and lavishly, and
not long after this meeting, as a result of grave financial charges,


16
WORLDS OF COLOR
W
he committed suicide. Mansart could never forget his clean-cut
young arrogance.
There was a man at this gathering whom Mansart did not
notice, and did not realize who he was, until years after. Banks,
of Texas, was tall, lanky, awkward and self-effacing. His clothes
did not fit, which made him noticeable in this well-dressed
group. He had come up from a country field hand to working
his way through college, teaching in the public schools and at
Benson's school in Kowaliga, Alabama, finally gaining the presi-
dency of an obscure Texas colored college supportedly stingily
by the state to ease its educational conscience and avoid the law.
He worked long and quietly until he knew every Negro high
school in Texas, every principal and every graduate; he knew
too every white man worth knowing, and white men wanted
to know him because he knew so much and so accurately what
they wanted to know. He asked nothing for himself; his salary
remained ridiculously small as his school grew larger. He sought
no office nor gift and no one thought of offering him graft. He
just wanted to know about Negroes in Texas, what they were doing
and what they needed. He became the admitted race relations
consultant in a state which was rapidly becoming one of the most
powerful in the nation and beginning to stir the world.
He organized his isolated school as a nearly self-sufficient eco-
nomic unit, with food-raising, bakery, canning outfit, electric
plant, home-building by student artisans; a hospital which even
whites sought; a few hand industries and larger efforts in the wind
if the state did not forbid. Indeed, Prairie View, rising on the
lone plain, looked like a miracle created by faith in a people by one
of them. What Banks wanted was to make this a real colored
state university and industrial center as well as a center of scientific
knowledge of the Negro.
Then came a sudden change. Texas became the home of mo-
nopoly in oil and sulphur and manufacturer of a thousand new
products. This Negro problem must not interfere with industry
and must find quick, easy solution. The millionaires planned a
Negro University in the wonder city of Houston which they had
moved from inland to the sea and made into a great port. This
university would have money, teachers and buildings and be
strictly controlled by white industry. Banks would be president,


The American Negro's World
17
callero education the South Land G
naturally. He was unassuming and safe. But Banks unexpectedly
demurred. He was unwilling to be president under control.
He preferred to be on the Board of Trustees, with access to the
eyes and ears of the rulers. But this meant no salary. Very well;
he would live on his small pension. He thus became and remains
the strongest member of the Board of Trustees. His was the most
extraordinary of the Negro Land Grant presidents' careers.
Mansart saw the Southern and Northern attitude towards
Negro education changing. The Negro was determined to have
college training for his youth. If it was not furnished in the
South it would be sought in the North and no dependence on
luck, or ability or discrimination in marking, would avail to stop
it. Negro students often excelled-not always but often in the
fierce competition of the North. Even the History Department
of Chicago University could not continue to deny the Ph.D. de-
gree, by unfair marking, although it tried desperately for years,
and supported a department of white Southern race philosophy.
Some colleges like Ohio State were being swamped by Negro stu-
dents despite every subterfuge.
There was but one answer: Negro colleges in the South or
admission of Negroes to all Southern colleges. This latter was
unthinkable in 1936, so Big Business in its national philanthropic
cloak, planned and began to endow a select set of private Negro
colleges in the South like Fisk, Atlanta, and Dillard. They
headed a “Negro College Fund" drive, much too small but ad.
vertised sufficiently to force beggars out of the field of philan-
thropy; and carefully supervised by Big Business. Even Hope,
at the New Atlanta University, had white Florence Reed of the
Rockefeller outfit planted to restrain his broader plans.
But South as well as North, the state university would eventu-
ally bear the burden of higher education. These universities must
be under political control and thus Big Business would control
democracy. In the South the Negro problem complicated all this.
Despite the continuing push of Negro college presidents of the
Land Grant group and the increasing millions already going
to Negro state colleges, Negroes were still not getting half of
what their proportion in the population entitled them to; if now
a federal Supreme Court ever got guts enough to decree justice
to Negroes; or more, if a federal administration was ever tempted


18
WORLDS OF COLOR
by the growing Negro vote to administer federal funds equitably,
the Southern Negro state college might soon equal and even over-
shadow the white. The South was scared.
All this was discussed in private conversation at the Baton
Rouge meeting. Jean Du Bignon, through the man from West
Virginia and the tall seer from Texas, laid out a tentative plan
for cooperative, continuous sociological investigation in each
state as a scientific beginning. It would be a controlled laboratory
test on a grand scale unequalled in history. While plans for this
were cooking, the president of Southern suggested in private that
this study be centered at Georgia State and that preliminary to
this, Mansart be encouraged to take a sabbatical in Europe to
broaden his vision of the Race Problem.
“He is fine and sincere; but his education has been narrow.
He simplifies the Negro Problem as one of education and ethics;
he has no conception of the role of industry, the plight of the
worker, and the work of the trade union. Indeed, most of our
group, while running 'agricultural, mechanical and industrial
colleges' really know little and do less in farming, industrial tech-
nique and production of goods. They realize this but do not
know what to do about it. Again, we and Mansart know nothing
of the central problem of colonies in the world."
Only a few of the presidents took much interest in this sug-
gestion, or at most looked at it as a personal matter and perceived
no overtones of the Huey Long line of thinking and doing. They
did not realize how far in settling the Negro problem the role of
the teacher was overshadowing the vital role of the worker. In-
deed, because of the fight against Booker Washington's ideas
there had grown something like enmity between teacher and
laborer just when in the world labor was forging forward to its
own.
On the other hand, they all agreed that Jean Du Bignon could
in Mansart's absence plan and start the group study. This was
rather unusual agreement on their part, for Negro men of action
still harbored unconscious prejudice against women, stemming
in part from the fact that family rebuilding among Negroes stressed
“the woman in the home"; and partly because Negro girls were
far outnumbering boys in school and thus presenting a severe
problem of sex competition in earning a living.


The American Negro's World
19
But Jean Du Bignon was in some ways different or at least
seemed so. In spite of her comeliness she was not beautiful, and
her total impression was not of sex but of sense. Her conversa-
tion with a man slipped easily from arch dalliance to straight
talk on his pet subject in which he soon got the impression of
someone who knew as much if not more than he. Of course,
Jean was careful to pick her conferees from those interested in her
own fields of study, and to avoid venturing into depths which
she had not plumbed. She did not try to settle problems of
family relationships or prospective love adventures. She linked
psychology to work rather than play, and listened when art and
literature were discussed. She listened, and also commented.
This proposal of Mansart's trip intrigued her. He needed not
simply rest but total spiritual change. He needed to see a world
divorced from the essentially trivial and temporary question of
skin color which had always been the center of his thought and
action, and to realize that to mankind at most times and in most
places color of skin was no more important than color of hair
or length of foot. No amount of argument would ever convince
Manuel Mansart of this fact. He must see and live it. For
this reason he must not go as a lone traveller, buffeted by fellow
American tourists with their alternation of patronage and insult
to dark folk. His must be a guided tour, but guided not by the
usual commercial agencies but by special arrangements. She im-
mediately began consultation and correspondence.
Jean wracked her brains for ways to make Mansart's trip a
source of enlightenment and information and not a series of
slights, discomfort and loneliness. She knew by reluctant testimony
and observation, what such a trip might mean to a dark stranger
in Europe. Without special and personal introductions to the
right persons of knowledge and delicate intuitions, the stranger
would be regarded as a curiosity, a matter of pitying condescen-
sion or of isolated position. He would be avoided from courtesy,
fear or distaste. If to balance this, the colored person sought
letters or words of introduction, who in America would furnish
them? Would Senator Baldwin or any member of his board of
trustees do so? Whom would a colored American know in Eng-
land to ask to undertake such a task? In France, where colored
folk were less in the category of curiosities in all levels of society,


20
WORLDS OF COLOR
a Haitian or a Martiniquan might be suitably introduced and wel-
comed, but a Negro from the United States would know no such
friends.
Jean had known many colored friends-teachers, professional
persons and others-who returned from a trip to Europe thoroughly
hurt and unhappy, even if they testified to enjoying it. They
had been quite naturally introduced to Americans who either ig-
nored or insulted them. They therefore tried to avoid white
Americans like the plague, but where could they turn? If they had
some special place or mission, like students or artists, or officials,
they would after a time find their natural level with fellow
workers; but a chance visitor or tourist? Jean shuddered as she
contemplated the sensitive Mansart in such a role. She wrote
to some former friends of school days and certain teachers with
hearts and imagination.
After some months and a few trips, she evolved a plan. She
arranged personal contacts in England, France and Germany. She
secured friends and persons who could find other friends of the
same kind. She thus got a number of persons of understanding
who knew or could learn what an American Negro experienced
and yet with sufficient manners not to let this sympathy and
knowledge so obtrude as to make the colored man feel like a
curiosity, a museum piece or an infant. This quest was not easy.
He began to get advice. A United States Senator said:
“How do you do, President Mansart; I sure am glad to see you.
I hear you're taking a sabbatical? That's fine. You deserve it.
Where do you plan to go?"
"I had thought of England and France, sir; and Germany.
Then, I'm a bit curious about Russia.”
The Senator scowled. “I wouldn't advise that. I hear it's in an
awful mess: a sort of national whore-house and murder racket.
Have you read what Trotsky is revealing? When thieves fall out-
you know. No, don't go there; it's liable to fall to pieces any
day."
"I see. But I do want to see a bit of Asia.”
“Good! Then go by way of Italy and Egypt and so to India.
A fine trip-I'd like it myself."
"Sounds so, sir; I'll think it over. But I am afraid it might
prove too long. But thank you for the advice."


The American Negro's World
21
Mansart talked it over with Jean. She agreed. “You see," she
said, “there's another reason; you might find that Russia is making
swift headway instead of failing. In that case it would be unwise
to say so when you returned. That would be difficult.”
Mansart made no reply.
Mansart had been surprised by correspondence which began
to drop out of nowhere. A visit to a meeting of the American
Educational Association in Chicago brought an invitation to join
a small party on a trip to England. It was fascinating, even when
he did not realize what this companionship would save in em-
barrassment when seating in the ship's dining room and when
placing of deck chairs harassed the steward. He gladly accepted.
Then from England came an invitation from an elderly gentle-
man with a "Sir" before his name. He had heard of Manuel
and his career-how, he did not say-and having an interest in the
Negro race because his family lived long in Africa, he wondered
if on his projected visit to England President Mansart would not
be his guest? Details followed. Manuel was astonished and
inclined to hesitate. In his experience invitations from white
people to Negroes had strings attached. But Jean induced him to
accept.
Next Jean started on France. After a glimpse at British aris-
tocracy she wanted Manuel to come in contact with the French
middle class; the people who worked, but lived for beauty and self-
expression in a simple atmosphere. A young French writer living
in London was about to return to his home in southern France.
Jean found through a friend that he would be delighted to have
Manuel as his guest, from whom he could learn of America from a
Negro's point of view and in turn show him something of France-
or rather of the world from the French point of view.
Asylum in Germany was finally obtained through the Karl
Schurz Foundation. There was some hesitation, but this might
prove good propaganda on both sides. China and Japan eagerly
welcomed this visitor without special arrangements.
There was one matter which bothered Jean and Mansart and
yet they said little about it to each other. That was the conduct
of the school during his absence. Where would authority rest?
Who would really be in charge? There were persons on the
faculty who would be anxious to assume Mansart's power; there


22
WORLDS OF COLOR
were other Negro officials in and out of the state who would be
only too willing to step into Mansart's shoes; and above all, white
trustees and merchants might see this absence as the time to work
for a new distribution of authority. Against all this was the fact
that the absence was to last but three months of actual school
time; and above all, the machine was now running so smoothly
and well, that it would take some time and work to disarrange it.
Jean herself knew more of this working and was more efficiently
entrenched in details than anyone else. Logically she ought to
be made dean or acting dean. But sex jealousy among black and
white precluded even the suggestion of this. Jean came forward
with an idea which was adopted: A small executive committee
was to be left in charge and Jean chose it. It consisted of a white
trustee who appreciated Jean's work; a colored trustee who was
not personally ambitious! The third member was Jean herself.
Jean had coached Mansart for his trip in various ways. She
made discreet suggestions as to his table manners; she taught
him how to eat a soft-boiled egg from the shell with a spoon.
She secured through the brother of a white classmate the services
of a first-rate tailor in New York and had him outfitted with suits
for day and dress, fine shirts, pajamas and underwear. She saw
to his hats, gloves and shoes. After much complaint he finally
succumbed. The trustees were only too pleased to have Mansart
take a year off with full salary. All had grown to like and re-
spect him. He left in June, 1936.
In New York, Manuel Mansart stopped to call on Max Rosen-
feld, the teacher who helped his daughter Sojourner in her music
and taught for a while at his college. He had some difficulty
in searching him out in his poor lodging on the East Side, but
Rosenfeld was extravagantly pleased to see him. He was par-
ticularly interested to know that Mansart was going to Germany
and said he wanted to send a message by him.
"But you must be careful. This goes to a Jewish proprietor
of a bookstore, a cousin of mine. Remember that the Jews in
Germany are in bad plight just now, so give it to him secretly,
and then he will tell you what is going on.”
Mansart was surprised. He had never had any real concep-
tion of a Jewish problem, except of course in religion, where the
problem, as far as Mansart was concerned, centered in the fact
Germany, he will tell you. He had never in religion, where face


The American Negro's World
that the Jews did not believe Jesus was God. He did not think
that too important. Of problems beyond this, which were racial,
cultural, and economic and involved hatreds quite as bitter as in
the Negro problem, Mansart was only faintly aware. There was a
Jewish wholesaler in Macon against whom the white merchants
tried to gang up; but Mansart persisted in giving him custom
and found him shrewd and honest. On the other hand, from the
parents of his students in town and country, came frequent com-
plaints of sharp practices and even cheating on the part of small
Jewish merchants in their dealing with poor laborers and tenants.
There seemed some basis for these complaints. He often had
wanted to make inquiries, but there was never time.
On the boat Manuel had time to catch up with long-neg-
lected reading. He read as he sailed, a version of what had hap-
pened lately to the world. European culture in the 19th century
had rested on peace between the Great Powers; a world market
regulated by international trade; a gold standard for prices and
free individual initiative in industry for capitalists.
For about a hundred years, 1815 to 1914, peace among the
leading European powers was fairly well kept. Wars for colonial
empire, on the other hand, were continuous, linking imperial Eu-
rope and eventually North America in world domination of the
darker peoples of the earth. As this European consortium be-
came increasingly tightened and perfected, three nations, Ger-
many, Italy and Japan, frozen out of their larger profits, began
more and more peremptorily to demand a share of the colonial
areas.
The result was the First World War, with Germany
fighting for colonies against the great colonial powers and the
United States; and these allies securing the cooperation of Japan,
whose price was recognition as the equal partner of dominant
white European powers. This war disrupted the industrial or-
ganization on which the 19th century rested. The world markets
and the gold standard ceased to function, and Russia came forward
with a design to challenge free industry by planned economy for
the raising of workers' income and power.
Desperate effort was made from 1918 to 1929 to restore the
world market and the gold standard; and to resist Communism in
Russia. It was the irony of fate that just as Western Europe
shese allies secune equal parthe industrial het


24
WORLDS OF COLOR
was practically united to overthrow Russia by force of arms, the
system of culture which had lifted the West to world dominance
during the 19th century, built on conquest of India, Negro slavery
in America, the Sugar Empire, and Cotton Kingdom and the
Industrial Revolution, crashed in unprecedented ruin. Naturally,
in what Mansart read, there were interpretations which ques-
tioned or contradicted this thesis. But this was Mansart's gen-
eral conclusion as he landed in England.


CHAPTER II
THE COLOR OF ENGLAND
Lady Rive of these colored hings could not. neoretically t
Sir John Rivers, who had a lovely estate in Essex, was im-
mensely intrigued by the prospect of his black visitor from America.
Lady Rivers was a bit worried. After all, she had heard disturb-
ing tales of these colored folk. But a generation removed from
actual savagery, the poor things could not of course be expected
to have much culture; and fine as it was theoretically to make it
pleasant for a deserving black teacher, she wished that Sir John
had talked the matter over with her before actually committing
himself. Three weeks! Good Lord! She discussed the situation
carefully with Reeves and his wife, the butler and housekeeper.
Her daughter, Sylvia, who taught at St. Hilda's, decided on a
vacation in France during the time of Mansart's stay; and her
grandmother, the dowager, would as usual spend most of her time
in her own secluded apartment.
But Manuel proved disarming and quite charming. He was not
loud like most Americans. He wore good clothes and clean linen
and his table manners, though often strange, were never objec-
tionable. Sir John was quite delighted. He was about Manuel's
age and thoroughly British. He was big, red and healthy; he
had never been obliged to earn a living but was broadly inter-
ested in life-that is, real life among people who were fortunate
enough to have something of actual value to keep them busy.
Sport interested but did not overwhelm him, and politics brought
one into intimate contact with many people whom he decidedly
disliked. For similar reasons, he never tried any of the profes-
sions, unless his efforts at farming and horticulture could be so
denominated.
But he liked human beings in the abstract and certain con-
crete specimens attracted him greatly. This was particularly true
of Negroes, especially those who were “rising"; that is, coming
“up from slavery" to full freedom and manhood. He had jour-
neyed to London in 1900 to meet Booker Washington, who was
25


26
WORLDS OF COLOR
the guest of his friend, the Duke of Sutherland. He was gratified
at Washington's modesty and solid manner, although a little
disappointed at his silences.
For the first time in his life Manuel began to know just what
a gracious and comfortable life could be. He breakfasted at nine
when all his life he had been used to starting the day's work not
later than seven. The breakfast was leisurely and individual,
each dropping in as he chose. It was served usually out of doors
on the terrace, with flowers near and a wide sweep of velvet
grass guarded by noble trees. There was music from birds, and
silent contemplation and carefree conversation and quiet, perfect
service.
Indeed, all life here was leisurely, with time for thought and
dreams; with no apprehension of ill or thought of lack of se-
curity. Without apparent plan or effort, the time was always
filled in-wandering in the flower garden or though the solemn,
lovely woods with little streams and a lake; there were the dogs
and horses to visit, and one could descry the world from the
hill or from the ancient tower built before America was discov-
ered. It was a beautiful and peaceful world, with thatched cot-
tages, winding roads, flocks and pastures; and here and there in the
distance, great and palatial estates.
Visitors dropped by casually during the day, all groomed and
spotless. even when in apparent undress. Conversation never
lagged; it was pleasant and gay with sharp but kindly thrust and
counter-stroke, and sometimes interesting reminiscences and late
news and comment. Then there was the library, always quiet
and musty, with chairs and couches, lights and ladders and beauti-
fully bound books in every language. There were pictures on
the wall and in portfolios and periodicals from all the world.
Dinner in the great hall was a ceremony which for some time
Manuel dreaded. There was the unfamiliar dress which a valet
always appeared in his bedroom to arrange, despite Manuel's
repeated assurance that he could dress himself. There were the
stony, very respectful but all-seeing eyes of the servants—the haughty
butler and the two pretty but unsmiling maids; there was the
endless array of unfamiliar silver and glasses and the quick re-
trieving of anything dropped or misplaced. Above all, the family
and guests. But these unobtrusively guided conversation, told
e Dinner in died. There bedroom dress himselervants


The Color of England
27
appropriate reminiscences and distracted attention from awk-
ward situations. After the first week Manuel found he could eat
dinner and really enjoy it.
Of all the meals, Mansart liked afternoon tea best, perhaps be-
cause it was so unusual at that time of day to stop everything
and enjoy pleasant gossip and delightful tid-bits in the open or by
the blazing hearth, in complete relaxation. Callers would drop in,
dogs came in ingratiatingly and everybody would talk or keep
happy silence. Manuel determined to have afternoon tea when
he returned home. Of course, he never did.
Mansart from the first was fascinated by the servants; first
by their number—the butler and housekeeper, the cook and her
helpers, the maids and valets, the gardeners, chauffeurs and la-
borers. He counted fourteen for this family of four. Then
there were their duties: they seemed so sure, so expert, and yet
went about with so little effort. They accepted Manuel but of
course, without, in their unemotional way, showing any evidence.
They sensed that he knew what work meant and sympathized with
any hardship. He did things which would have occurred to no
gentleman-born, and yet were in no sense ill-bred-like turning
and carrying the dining-room maid's extra heavy tray; and hold-
ing the door back for the laden butler. Sometimes Manuel
asked questions which no one brought up to leisure would have
thought of: their hours of work and their homes, and where they
went to school, and-fancyl-if they liked their job! Now and then
he voluntered his own experiences, for which naturally they were
too well-bred to ask but eager to hear about. They learned that
he had worked with his hands and been a servant and taught
school.
On the other side, Manuel's manners were not only to the
servants but to the family, a matter of pleasant surprise. He was
quite unconscious of this and never appeared anxious or strained;
often when he made a faux pas he smiled and mentioned it, asking
the correct way. He expressed no alarm or shame. In all this,
his ten years as a college head had helped. He was used to being
stared at by thousands of bright, intelligent and exploring eyes;
he knew how to sit quietly and apparently unmoved while white
men of wealth and power tried to insult him or draw him out
or confuse him. He knew not only how to conceal his thoughts


WORLDS OF COLOR
His intercourses in John, careful to add that his color
make him fore he weather served interesting; th
or conclusions but better, how to let his observers wonder if he
had sensibilities or judgments.
Here of course most strangers were kind and sympathetic and
the family almost overdid it until they realized that he was a man
of thought and experience which had caked into good manners.
Now and then ill-bred or careless persons appeared, like the
haughty old countess who asked if any black women were chaste;
or the child who rubbed Manuel's face to see if the color was fast.
He answered simply that his daughter was chaste, and held his
cheek still while the child rubbed hard.
His intercourse developed slowly and naturally. They were
all, and especially Sir John, careful to appear not in the least way
inquisitive or over-curious. They sensed that his color and race
had always been so central in his life that their first duty was to
make him forget. So at first the talk ran to generalities and even
trivialities. The weather served its eternal duty and its contrast
to Georgia made it often quite interesting; the trip across the sea;
the travel by rail, the trees, birds and flowers. Then came the
food, the question of interesting games, the day's news. When
Manuel realized how much they were really interested in him
as a human being, he began to relate litle pieces of information,
about his childhood; about his college and his students. He
avoided the race problem as such but stressed the human side.
They soon were hanging on his words. Quite naturally, Sir
John began to compare experiences and was gratified to realize
how alike human beings were even if they lived a thousand miles
apart in distance and even further in cultural experience.
Sylvia had run down to pack for France and incidentally to
appraise this wild black American. Lady Rivers asked, to keep
up conversation:
"Mr. Mansart, what in England strikes you most?"
Manuel plunged: “Your idleness.”
They were at tea. The flavor was rare; the scones were hot
and delightful and the tea cakes unusual. The silent, efficient
service saw that everyone had what they wanted just as they were
aware of the need. A light rain was falling. The smooth, green
lawn stretched richly to the magnificent woods.
"And don't you like it?"
“I love it, but it scares me. You see, I would not dare to


The Color of England
29
rest so much while others work so hard. I suppose it is just a differ-
ence of what looks to some like duty."
"Or," said Lady Rivers, "perhaps it is only American rush
and hurry which seems to us so unnecesary and even useless."
“Milady, you never picked cotton. You see, I was a child of
workers. I was raised to work for what I wanted. You, if I may
say so without offense-do not work.”
Sylvia settled back in her chair, luxuriantly. Sir John came
to the rescue.
"I realize your implied criticism, Mr. Mansart. You see, the
situation is complicated and historical. To many it is hard to
grasp. For instance, my grandfather pioneered in the Niger
delta, traded in gold and pepper and at last in tin. He got
title to valuable tin mines. He raised capital in England to de-
velop the mines, hired natives to work them, brought in British
technicians to direct this work; from the results of this, I and
my family live."
Mansart was silent, but Sylvia looked at him and said smil-
ing: “We are waiting, Mr. Mansart!"
Mansart was uncomfortable but replied, “I can see, Sir John,
how your grandfather earned his income and how the natives
must have been satisfied to work for him. But on my voyage
over, I read a number of books which my assistant recommended.
These have set me to thinking. My mind goes this way. Your
grandfather's discovery of tin in Nigeria deserved reward. But not
repeated reward; not continuous reward. Not extravagant re-
ward. And reward for the discovery should go to the discoverer
and not to his children. The tin belonged to Africa, not to Eng.
land. After the discovery, it was certainly as much the property
of the Africans as of the British. The British brought knowledge
of extracting tin for use. This was of greatest importance. But
this knowledge and technique was public property in Europe.
Englishmen learning and using this knowledge deserved pay for
their work. But not repeated and eternal pay. And this pay
should go to the one who applied this skill for what he did
and not to others who did nothing. And the machines and
tools should be paid for, but paid for once, not continuously.
Their repair should be paid for, but paid for once, not repeatedly.
In other words, Sir, I can see clearly that your grandfather de-


30
WORLDS OF COLOR
served pay for his work, for his effort in acquiring skill; for ma-
terials imported and used and their repair. But, pardon me, Sir,
if I ask where do you come in? What effort are you being paid
for? The black workers who served your grandfather got paid
once; their descendants are being paid not for what their fathers
did but for what they do now. Why this difference between the
pay of the European and the African? Both should be paid for
their effort-should they not?—and for nothing else."
“There comes in there, dear Mr. Mansart, something called
Property."
"Is this Property the result of effort?"
“It is the result of law.”
“Who makes the law?"
"It is here that the great British institution, the Family, comes
in for understanding."
Sylvia stretched out her long limbs and took another cup of
tea. “Daddy, do continue to tell Mr. Mansart,” she said.
Sir John looked serious. "We Britishers believe in the Family-
its long life, its unity, its sacrifice, its ideals. We strive to hold
it together, to perpetuate it. Frankly, we do not believe in equality
as you Americans profess to do. I even venture to believe you do
not really, and are here precisely because you are superior, far
superior to your fellow Americans, black and white. Some people
are born to rule, to hold superior position, to have leisure for
thought, creation and enjoyment. By selection of a ruling group
the world advances and Empire spreads. Mistakes occur, to be
sure; faults and even crimes crop out. But what other way has
humanity yet discovered to advance but by way of aristocracy?
I am first to admit that not all, not most of the subjects of the
British Empire are happy or content. But I sincerely believe that
most of them are getting what they deserve and as much as their
natural station in life entitles them to.”
Lady Rivers added: “You must admit two things, Mr. Mansart:
first that our way of living is pleasant; and second, that no system
of life could provide such comfort for everybody, even granted
everybody would want it. Therefore, it comes down to this: on
what basis shall we choose who shall have these amenities and
comforts—by popular vote, by the king's grace or by the law of
survival?"


The Color of England
“We have served well,” interrupted the Dowager in her thin
but high-bred voice. She had today made one of her seldom
appearances. She stared at Mansart quite frankly. "We have
served nobly as heroes and conquerors; as knights and earls; as
warriors on land and sea, at Agincourt, Flodden Field, Oude-
narde, and," she choked a bit, "on Flanders Field!"
Sir John placed his hand gently on hers and said, "But,
Maman, we must not boast; the world neither knows nor cares-
that is, this world that has replaced the real world." She lapsed
into calm silence. Sir John continued: “We had the skill and cour-
age; the persistence. We found the tin, bought the machinery and
showed the natives how to dig it."
Manuel was a little irritated. “And you, Sir, what did you
do that these mines and these miners should work for you?"
Sylvia chortled, "You inherited, dear Dad-no more, no less.
That wasn't hard work!".
"If not I, someone else; and although I am all too unworthy,
I and my family can have the pleasure of entertaining you, Mr.
Mansart. The world's best people should have wealth and au-
thority. You, sir, are the exception among your folk. You have
position and power. You should have more, but your family has
just begun the long trek. It would never do to let the mass of
American Negroes have power to do as they wish."
Manuel was astonished to realize that Sir John was quite sin-
cere. He hastened to add: "You can't realize, Sir John, by what
narrow chance I had the opportunity just to live, much less to
grow healthy, go to school and college and get this work. I was
born, Sir, in my father's blood as he was shot to bits by a mob.
My mother worked her hands to the bone to keep me in school.
I cringed and crawled to keep my job as a school teacher and to
head this college. And while I was doing this, thousands of black
boys and girls had no chance, no opportunity and sank to hunger
and crime and shameful death because God forgot them.
“Sir John, I would not for a moment set my judgment against
yours. But I have an experience which gives me a point of view
which you can never understand. I know a nation and a land
which talks as you do about ten million people-they are wrong
and I know it because I am one of those people. We are not
happy. We are not content. We are not in the status which best
father's blood college just to live, John, byen


32
WORLDS OF COLOR
suits us or is best for the welfare of our white neighbors. The
reason is that in deciding worth and ability, we are not con-
sulted. Others judge what we deserve and what we can do and
of just what worth we are. And Sir, while I have the deepest re-
spect for your judgment, before agreeing with you I'd like to
see African labor and hear what it says.”
Said Sylvia, “You needn't go to Africa. Just listen to British
workers and hear what they say of our leisure and the inborn
superiority of British aristocracy.”
Lady Rivers said: "I am afraid, Mr. Mansart, you do not realize
just what my husband has done for his world: his breadth of
sympathy which arose from broad reading and hard thinking;
the positions of influence he has held, not eminent but so needed;
his advice and wide individual acquaintanceship with high and
low, rich and poor, peer and criminal. He has been rewarded
graciously, I admit, but does this patrimony quite repay all
that the Rivers family have given Britain, including-the life of
my son?"
Mansart hastened to say: "I assure your ladyship that Sir John
richly deserves what the world gives him. I only ask, and with
humility, if Africa is today in position to pay the debt, and if her
bankruptcy is her fault, since surely it is not the fault of Sir John?"
Sylvia burst out: "Africa? Can even England pay? Look at
London's East End.”
Her Ladyship complained, “This is more of Sylvia's socialism.
Why, considering our own home-what would our servants do if
we did not hire them?".
Sylvia yawned and flung back, rising: “I've said it before, our
butler might enter Parliament and the maids could have babies,
legitimate if possible.”
Sir John laughed and also arose. “I'm wondering if Mr.
Mansart would not like to drive up to London tomorrow and
lunch at my club?"
"Can I drop in, too?" asked Sylvia.
“Delighted, my dear.”
The trip to London in Sir John's Rolls-Royce was fascinating-
beautiful as they rolled through Essex, interesting as they trav-
ersed the more and more crowded parts of the city. They skirted


The Color of England
33
the crowded East End and came down through Epping and Barnett
and then winding through the city came to the white marble
façade of the Liberal Club. It was Mansart's first experience
with the club life of London; those great, quiet buildings, luxuri-
ously furnished, where the members could rest at ease and have
their meal; where they could meet friends and if necessary
themselves have a room for the night. Without his club, or per-
haps two or three of them, no Londoner could realize English
life at its best.
Sir John naturally belonged to several clubs but his favorite
on the whole was the Liberal Club because it was more catholic
in its tastes and one could meet all sorts of people and yet know
that they were mostly well-bred Englishmen. They talked a while
with a number of acquaintances to whom Sir John introduced his
black friend. Mansart was, with perhaps one exception, re-
ceived with courtesy and all talked together with mutual interest.
Naturally, the matter of the Empire had to intrude and some-
thing was said about the unrest in West Africa.
“Labor in Africa,” said one gentleman, “must of course be
more or less compulsory. The people are not used to our steady,
dependable labor."
Another interrupted. “And, of course, compulsory labor must
act as a drug, keeping the people traditionally in harness like
the coolies of China or of India.”
“Or,” said another, “if the drug does not subdue them into
insensibility it may on the other hand arouse them, so that they
begin to get impatient and dissatisfied.”
“You are implying,” said the third, “that compulsory labor
in colonies leads either to apathy or to revolution.”
“And that,” said the fourth, "is by no means confined to
colonies."
At this time, as Sylvia arrived, a part of the company joined her
and her father and Mansart at luncheon. The reserved table filled
slowly. Sir John occupied the center of the side facing the main
dining area. He placed Mansart at his right and his daughter at
his left. Beside Manuel was a prosperous merchant, plump and
pleasant. Opposite the host was a vacant chair and beside it
a voluble, gray-haired lady, carelessly but expensively dressed
and, as Manuel was told later, of considerable wealth. At last,


34
WORLDS OF COLOR
a tall man approached the vacant chair. He was massive in build,
smooth skinned and perfectly groomed from hair to shoes, from
kerchief to folded yellow gloves. His attitude was clear con-
scious knowledge of his rank and power, with an air of distinct
deprecation of any possible assertion of these, until his eyes fell
on the black face of Mansart. Involuntarily he stiffened and his
evident military bearing asserted itself. Without a word he did a
right-about-face and quickly stepped into the hall. Sir John
stared in astonishment, but quietly turned to order the lunch
served when a servant hurried up with a message; Sir John excused
himself and went to the lobby. He returned shortly with pro-
found excuses from Sir Evelyn Charteris. It seems he had care-
lessly forgotten a most important engagement which he must not
miss. He would try to return before lunch was finished. Mean-
time, would the guests accept his profound apologies. He especially
sent regrets to dear Mrs. Cartwright--
Mrs. Cartwright was much put out. “I had so counted on see-
ing Sir Evelyn today. There is a great Englishman, my friends.
On such as he the Empire rests!” Sir John took up the con-
versation easily, but Manuel was not for a moment deceived. Here
was an imperial servant who did not eat with “Niggers.” Was
this a mistake of Sir John's ? A misunderstanding or what? It
would of course be just like Sir John to forget to say, in inviting
Sir Evelyn, that his American guest was black. The colloquy
in the lobby had been a bit sharp: “But Sir John, I can't eat
with a darkey-where would the British Empire go, if its repre-
sentatives lowered themselves to the level of the hordes over
whom we are supposed to rule?”
“This man is a gentleman, and the guest of my family, and
I thought we were raising them, not lowering ourselves.”
“But Hell, they can't be raised and if they can, they're even
more dangerous and must be kicked back. But pardon me, old
friend, why the devil didn't you say your American guest was
black?"
"My God-_"
“Well, well! Please make my excuses to the guests and espe-
cially to Elspeth.”
Meantime the lunch went placidly on. The portly gentleman
to Mansart's right took up the praise of Sir Evelyn.


The Color of England
35
"Fine fellow. It's such staunch representatives of our rule
that build our power. Absolutely fair, carefully trained, me-
ticulous about his duties.”
“He makes our dividends certain," mused Sylvia.
“But he's absolutely honest in his dealings with the natives."
“No reason why he shouldn't be. He's well paid, has luxuri-
ous quarters and more servants than he can use. The natives
will pay him a good pension when he retires at sixty and he'll
come home as an honored authority on native denizens of terri-
tories. He'll see a lot. Spiffy, I call it."
Mrs. Cartwright was indignant. "Sylvia, you have long needed
spanking. Sir Evelyn deals honestly with the natives."
“But do we?” insisted Sylvia. “Don't let's be hypocrites!"
“Agreed, but we did free the slaves and stop the slave trade.”
“Also, we made the Negro slave trade to America a great in-
dustry which built our cities and founded trade and industry. In
the eighteenth century the African slave trade was the most valu-
able trade in our Empire and West Indian property our most
valuable property. We kept it up as long as it paid. When the
slaves revolted we stopped the trade; and when they refused to be
as cheap labor as we could find in Asia or Africa, we found more
profitable investment for our capital there. Philanthropy and re-
ligion help, but they follow the biggest dividends. Pitt, not
Wilberforce, freed the slaves.”
Mrs. Cartwright retired into aristocratic silence. Manuel broke
the silence by asking his neighbor a question which seemed to
force itself on his tongue:
"I cannot help wondering just what this lunch costs in black
miners' wages?"
The merchant stared and finally said:
“Supply and demand take care of such matters."
"British demand, African supply?"
“Naturally," said the merchant and turned to his neighbor
who was expert on stock prices.
The company began to discuss labor and socialism. Mansart
listened but said little, until someone turned to him.
“What, Mr. Mansart, is your attitude toward Africa? And what
is the attitude of American Negroes in general?"
Mansart replied, "We really know comparatively little of Africa,


36
WORLDS OF COLOR
but of course theoretically what we want is that Africa should be
free and independent.”
“Why?"
"Well, we sort of think that is the heritage of mankind.”
Of all mentally of all blvia, "lugs
lon us, but mented this beading to rumpitie sensi
“Yes, eventually of all men.”
“If 'eventually,” said Sylvia, “lugs along a hundred years or
more, I wonder if you're right. If it is a matter of beginning now
and working in this generation, I agree with you.”
“In a hurry as usual, Sylvia,” said her father smiling. And
then all arose to greet a newcomer. He was a young Englishman,
tall and thin, rather carelessly dressed and very earnest in his
manner. It seemed that he and Sylvia were planning to take
Mansart on a journey. So after a time they left the group and the
comfortable rooms of the great club with its marble façade and
walked around the corner to Sylvia's little Austin. They drove
away toward the east with desultory conversation and then, park-
ing on the side, Sylvia produced a shabby old raincoat which she
wanted Mansart to don. And she substituted a very disreputable
hat for his new Knox.
"Please pardon us, but we're going into the slums."
The young man supplemented this by apologetically removing
his tie and that of Mansart and proceeding to rumple up Man-
sart's clean linen. “You know, our hosts are a little sensitive
when people, especially strangers, come among them and are too
well dressed.”
As Sylvia left them alone for a time, Manuel mentioned his
stay at her home and how he had enjoyed it. The young man
agreed about the family and touched the matter of the death of
Sylvia's brother. “We were not exactly chummy, but I knew him
well and his death was a blow to Sylvia; and yet a relief.”
Manuel looked astonished: “A relief?”
The young man relighted his pipe and continued slowly:
“Yes, he was a snob, a born aristocrat, English style. He never
worked, but expected the world to work for him; correctly schooled
and tailored, a captain in the Guards, aiming at a rich marriage
and a peerage; a dilettante in sports and arts, an exquisite idler
who leapt at war just as he murdered Big Game. He died in a gut-
ter filled with mud and the blood of England's flower. Sylvia was


The Color of England
37.
stricken, for she loved her handsome brother dearly. But she was
glad he did not live to be what he wanted to be.”
The little car lurched over the rough East End cobblestones.
Endless miles of slum streets, their dreary murk broken only by the
garish invitation of brightly lighted "pubs.” At one time they en-
tered one and ordered a pint of mild and bitter. The patrons were
working folk, noisily comparing notes on wins or losses in the
latest football pool or placing bets on the chances of Whitechapel's
heavyweight pride, Erny Hawkins, to win the title. There were
the usual number of beer-sodden men cradling head on arms in
despairing attempt to get away from it all.
But it was the women who for years remained in Mansart's
memory. One incident stayed with Mansart all his life. It was
not the main picture nor most significant. But it persisted. Among
the quiet women with shawled heads were many in tawdry finery,
grimy feather boas encircling their unwashed necks, heads crowned
by bedraggled plumed hats. The arms of one of these tipsy tarts
cradled a babe. Its hungry wails put a damper on the “gaiety”
until the barman protested: “ 'Ere naow, 'ere naow! If you cawn't
shut the brat's mouth you'll ’ave to tyke 'im out of 'here!” The
Cockney wit of her obscene retort drew guffaws of laughter, and
the drunken madonna dragged a filthy handkerchief from her
bosom, twisted up a corner, dipped it into her gin and put it
in the infant's mouth. The wails subsided into a contented gurgle.
Mansart and his companions, choking back a rising nausea,
emptied their glasses and quickly sought their car.
It was well toward midnight when Mansart and Sylvia, having
dropped their companion by the way, arrived at the Rivers' house
in Essex. For miles they had been very silent. Indeed, Mansart
never fully expressed just what he saw in the London East End
and what it meant to him; but it marked an epoch in his life.
For the first time he realized that white men and women in a
civilized country and in the twentieth century could suffer in
degradation, helplessness and crime quite as much as any Negroes
whom he knew in America; and, he surmised, as much as Negroes
and Asians suffered overseas. It was to him an astonishing
realization.


CHAPTER III
THE COLOR OF EUROPE
Mansart spent about a week more in England and then one
afternoon there came to the estate the young Frenchman who
was to accompany him to France and be his host for several weeks.
He was an interesting young man, well dressed and cultivated,
speaking meticulously correct English and very polite and thought-
ful. He said to Mansart and the family that he was sorry he was
not going to be able to entertain his guest so graciously as he was
being entertained in England. He explained that in France they
had by no means recovered from the devastation of the First
World War. "But,” he said, “I hope to make you understand
something of what France means to us and to the world.”
He added, “I fear that in England you have seen the Extreme
and not the Mean; the aristocracy and the slums but not the great
English Middle Class. But,” he added philosophically, “that makes
little difference. This Middle Class gives birth to the nobility and
both ape each other, so in a sense they are identical.” Mansart,
remembering the sturdy, satisfied and very respectable merchants
and clerks he had seen, was not quite sure as to just what the
typical Englishman was.
Both Sir John and Lady Rivers hastened to assure Mansart
that he was going to have an unforgettable experience and that
nothing in England, after all, was quite equal to what France had
given civilization.
Singularly enough the matter that disturbed Mansart most on
leaving Britain was the tips for the servants. He hated tipping;
it stank of slavery. He did not believe in tipping and could not
afford it. He took the bull-or rather the butler-by the horns and
spoke to him frankly. The butler was polite and unperturbed.
But he showed no enthusiasm. The housekeeper, when the message
was delivered, was disgruntled: "If he's able to travel, he ought to
be able to pay his way. I never did hold with niggers nohow."
Some of the maids and men sneered; others giggled.
38


The Color of Europe
39
As he rolled away on his journey, his hosts remembered not
only this dark and well-bred gentleman who had become their
friend, but for themselves they remembered their honeymoon in
Paris at the Exposition of 1900, and the walks they took across
the Pont Alexandre, the new bridge which was then linking France
and Russia.
After a pleasant and uneventful journey across the rough channel
and then on the train between Calais and Paris, Mansart and his
friend came to a month of experience which always thereafter
had for Mansart the uncertain quality of a dream.
Manuel Mansart did not realize until long afterward how
expertly he was guided by M. Villiers. Villiers tried to show him at
once the physical Paris and its meaning, past and present. They
looked out upon the city from the Eiffel Tower and saw the Seine,
the Left Bank and Notre Dame. They wandered in the Bois de
Boulogne, having lunch in a secluded restaurant among the trees.
Coming back they paused over the Eternal Fire within the Arc de
Triomphe, and they went up to Montmartre. The beautiful church
looked down upon the city which they had left with the Tuilleries
in the distance, the Madeleine and the Palais Royale, and with
the plethora of streets, churches, public buildings, and squares.
Walking down from the white church they came through the
little streets of shops, and by the Moulin Rouge until they reached
the Opera and the Grand Boulevards. They stopped one day for
chocolate and soft-boiled eggs at a world-renowned little restaurant,
and then taking a cab rode through the Square of the Republic
to the Bastille.
Here the whole thing began to take on a different significance.
Mansart was at the place where the French Revolution started,
where the modern world was born, and where people began to
dream of the equality of human beings and their right to have a
voice in government. It seemed queer and unbelievable, the history
that had taken place in this now so vast square with the old prison
gone and the Column of July rising alone in the center.
As they walked they talked and Villiers tried in various ways
to interpret the living France:
“It is difficult to characterize a nation. Hardly any classification
of its motives is all wrong; none is completely right. The only final
judgment is what happens and that is difficult to see as a whole


WORLDS OF COLOR
and grasp entire. Complete and accurate measurement of what
men do is not attempted; it is not even envisioned as possible nor
desirable.
"How then shall we characterize France? We French are Saint
Joan and her peasants who birth the people, believe in God and
skimp and save and push the world backwards. We are the shop-
keepers climbing into gross corporations, immortal, infernal, super-
men, armed to the teeth, owning all ability; controlling thought
and news; maiming, murdering and driving men insane. Yet we
differ from you Americans,we still have writers and artists, unbrib-
able, unsaleable, free and helpless, looking Death straight in the
face. This picture of France, Mr. Mansart, is as false as the nation
itself. While we are dirty and vile amid our beauty, and love sex
and say so, yet we have not yet sunk to the level of the whores of
Hollywood who wallow in pools and collect autographs and wave
their legs and bare their asses to the world.
“And France is Europe. For five hundred years, all Europe has
fattened on the entrails of Asia and Africa and built her glory
on the blood and guts of ‘chinks' and 'niggers.' What a brave
and mighty folk we are, and how unrivalled and unprecedented in
lying and murder!”
They stopped in a small restaurant along the Seine embank-
ment. It was filled with laborers and clerks, but Villiers found some
acquaintances in the rear and they crowded around a table against
the wall. Among the group Manuel was pleased to see a colored
man from the West Indies. He was a M. James and was a writer.
With him was a Russian and a Frenchman who could speak Russian.
"Communists,” said Villiers with a smile. Manuel was interested.
He had never met a Communist and was curious.
“I have hoped,” he said diffidently, “that your revolution would
supplement the French, which gave us Liberty, Equality, and
Brotherhood. ..."
James flared. “You mean which tried and failed. The slave trade
and slavery were the economic basis of the French Revolution.
‘Sad irony of human history,' comments Jaurès. 'The fortunes
created at Bordeaux, at Nantes, by the slave trade, gave to the
bourgeoisie that pride which needed liberty and contributed to
human emancipation. The French revolt of 1789 gave liberty to
a large group of Frenchmen, but it was the revolt of the slaves


The Color of Europe
41
in Haiti which tried to force equality on France. But the reaction
called Thermidor beat back the Terror of the rise of the French
workers and crucified the house-servant Babeuf, who tried to lead
them to brotherhood with black workers and brown. Thus, the
French Revolution was never finished. Napoleon tried to transform
it into colonial imperialism but Christophe and Dessalines balked
him and the United States grabbed the spoil of Louisiana.”
The Russian spoke rapidly as the Frenchman translated:
“And don't you see the Russian Revolution now comes to fulfill
the French and Haitian? We take the worker to the place where
the French Revolution tried to lift him and, setting him side by
side with the black and colored people, bring a world brotherhood
of which the most progressive white world never dreamed. Indeed,
white Europe and America were headed straight toward a world
war of race and color, which the Soviet Union alone will prevent."
Manuel stared at this interpretation of the Russian Revolution.
He had heard the Soviet Union had made color discrimination a
crime; but to him the "color line” was principally a matter of
admission to street cars, trains, schools, and restaurants. Of an
equality higher and broader than this, involving economic equality,
he had not given much thought.
Some days later they came down to the Seine, looked at the
fascinating book shops on its banks and then passing over, went
to a restaurant which from its portico afforded a view of the cele-
brated Isle de la Cité, with the vast towers of Notre Dame in the
distance. This was the center of Paris. There the first Napoleon
was crowned and there stood the Palace of Justice.
They came across the Pont Neuf with the statue of Henry IV,
and turning to the left saw the great palaces of the Louvre, the
Arc du Carrousel, and the gardens of the Tuilleries. They looked
through the Rue Royale toward the church of the Madelaine and
rode up the Elysian fields through the Park of Peace, La Concorde.
It was in the Louvre itself that they spent long hours, not all
at once but one and two hours at a time over a week of visiting.
Mansart knew almost nothing of art. He had seen before coming
abroad practically no great pictures and what he had looked upon
as sculpture was rather miserable stuff. Here he could sit down
quietly and look upon the Winged Victory of Samothrace and
the Venus de Milo. He saw Mona Lisa, and his companion showed


42
WORLDS OF COLOR
him many other pictures less advertised but quite as beautiful.
He gained in time an idea of how the great painters of the world
from Italy to Holland and France had tried to set down their
conception of the beauty and meaning of the human body and
its surrounding world. Later he tried to understand Matisse,
Gauguin and Picasso. He emerged into a new conception of what
the earth was and what man could see in it and its inhabitants.
After a week or so, they went to the Rive Gauche along the
Boulevard St. Germaine and into the Boul Mich. They spent after-
noons in the beautiful gardens of Luxembourg and went down
to see the loveliest of Botanical gardens. They rode by the Insti-
tute Pasteur on the Rue de Vaurigard and lived at a little hotel
there for a week, a hotel characteristically parisien, with its black-
gowned hostess, its omnipresent servant and its morning breakfast-
in-bed of coffee and croissons. Many of these sights they visited
again and again; the Bois de Boulogne, Montmartre, the garden
of Tuilleries and the cemetery of Pére Lachaise.
During this time they were talking together, of themselves and
their world; of that fabulous America of which the young man
was both so curious and so critical and wanted specifically to be
coached on just what a "lynching” was. He himself was the son
of a well-to-do peasant in South France, who still tilled the family
farm. Indeed, there he and his friend were going to spend the
last week of this trip and there they would meet his father and
mother and the married sister; a sister who, by the way, he said,
had married an American and who wanted to go to America. But
the husband was unwilling.
M. Villiers was unmarried and had a small income from his
writings. He spoke with care and thought. He sought the exact
word that would express just the specific meaning that he wished
to convey. Save that he wanted to express himself in writing or
by some other medium, he was not sure as to what his life was
going to be. He had no plans. He did not have wealth nor want it.
He was fairly certain not to starve. He sought a world of taste and
discrimination, without suffering and hurt, and filled with all
manner of men.
They came to the farm by way of Roman France; they saw
Arles and Nîmes and they walked if they did not dance across
the bridge at Avignon. They glimpsed the blue Mediterranean


The Color of Europe
43
below the hill of their farm. The parents were simple and cordial,
courteously curious and full of questions. The married sister
especially greeted them with joy, because of her deep sympathy
with her brother and her interest in America.
She talked freely about her husband who was not at the time
present. He had been in the American army in the First World War
and had been brigaded with the French army. He had been wounded
and had won the Croix de Guerre. But he did not want to return
to America. He seemed in a way curiously prejudiced against
America and this his wife could not quite understand. She asked
a great many questions about America and explained that in
France it was difficult since the war for a young man to get a real
start. Her husband lacked the over-precise curriculum of the
French schools which was so necessary to get admission to certain
lines of professional work. Naturally, he also did not have the
connections and acquaintances which would open ways to him.
On the other hand, he had had a good American education
and it seemed to her that the place to make his way was in America.
The wages were high there, the chances of work were broad. She
could not understand why he would not for a moment entertain
the idea of going. Of course, she knew that Negroes formed a caste
in America-but an officer and a gentleman would naturally be
treated as one even in the United States. She talked earnestly to
Mansart about this, and Mansart himself could not understand
until the husband came home. He was a brown man.
It was characteristic, on the one hand, of his French hosts that
they apparently had never thought of mentioning this fact to
Mansart, which was of course in his mind of the greatest importance.
It explained why the young husband did not want to return to
America and why he knew, although he did not try to make this
clear to his wife and her family, just why he could not see a career
in America. He was a thick-set man of perhaps thirty-five; solidly
built with a good-looking but rather discontented countenance.
His mental balance was unstable. He was as startled when he saw
Mansart as Mansart was to see him.
It is always a problem for American Negroes to know just what
attitude they should assume toward each other when abroad. Of
course, if they are alone they come rather naturally together. But
if they are in different social settings, what then? This colored man


44
WORLDS OF COLOR
was the husband of the only daughter in a French family and he,
Mansart, a Negro teacher travelling in France. Shall they treat each
other as understanding friends or shall they rather ignore each other,
or what path between was there? Mansart tried to be pleasant and
understanding but the young colored man did not respond very
eagerly. He was curt in his answers and did not try to enter into
the conversation. On the whole, it was rather an unpleasant
experience.
Only once did Mansart seek to get close to him. They met in
the fields by accident, looking out upon the well-fed cows and
the waving grain.
“Do you think of returning to America at some time?” asked
Mansart.
"No," said the man shortly.
"You have not been home in some years."
"No."
"Perhaps you won't mind if I tell you that there are changes
in America-we are improving in our race relations and there is a
chance for a Negro to get on rather better than I have ever seen
before.”
“I suppose you mean to get on as a Negro? I am not a Negro.
I am a Frenchman, and I am going to stay so. But I tell you what
I am going to do. I am going to Africa."
Mansart was a bit astonished. “Africa? Why-that's fine! I-I'm
glad you thought of it.”
“Oh, I don't mean the Africa you have in mind. I'm not
going down on the fever coast to work like a ‘nigger.' I'm going
into the French Civil Service or perhaps the military service in
French West Africa. I am going to invest there what money I
can get hold of. I am going to have servants and laborers and
live like a gentleman. I've been down there for a while and I
know how a white man can live and what he can do. And I am
a white man from now on."
Mansart said nothing.
"You have been talking to John, I see," said his young host.
“I'm glad. I wish you'd try to have some influence on him.
I confess I don't quite understand him. I can see why he doesn't
want to return to America, and perhaps he's right. I've heard of
the Negro's status there. But what in God's name does he want


The Color of Europe
45
in West Africa? It's a hellish sort of hole, hot, fever-ridden,
fly-blown. Of course, he is attracted by certain aspects of colonial
life. If a man can get a well-paid position and is willing to do
nothing for the rest of his life except to yell at servants, well,
I suppose he can make it, although how he can live without art,
literature, self-expression of any sort, I don't see; and I don't
myself fancy being surrounded by poor devils, ignorant, diseased
and hopeless. Apparently he rather likes that sort of thing. I'm
sure my sister won't.”
The sister came up about this time and she began talking
with Mansart.
“I can understand," she said, “how a man brought up as
John must have been wants to escape the plight of ordinary peo-
ple without wealth and privilege. But I cannot see why he wants
to go to the opposite extreme and lord it over the unfortunate.
I rather like to work among the poor and the laborers. One finds
real people there, don't you think?"
“I certainly do,” said Mansart. “I can't imagine working any-
where else. And I question the whole institution of thoughtless
service, of obeying commands on the farm or in the house or
anywhere without any chance to know and to do on one's own ac-
count. It seems to me that there is something wrong with a man
to whom that is an ideal.”
John came up just then and he spoke bitterly. "Of course,
you can't understand. You're a white folk's 'nigger,' Mansart.
You've been kicked and walked on so much that you're used to it,
and you wouldn't know what to do if you had a chance to do a
little kicking yourself. Well, I am going to kick. I am going to
step on people who are only worth stepping on. I am not going
back to America. I am going to French West Africa and there
I am going to be somebody.” He turned away abruptly. There
were tears in his wife's eyes as she followed him.
The incident of this talk with John led to further conversa-
tion concerning Black France.
"Your country, by the way, was a considerable colored empire-
seventy-five million colonials against forty million home folks,”
said Mansart, who had been reading.
“Yes, we have fifty million in Africa, twenty-seven million in
Asia and a half million in America. Frankly, I don't like it.


36
WORLDS OF COLOR
Some of these we have assimilated by actual migration to France;
others by making them legal French citizens in their homes.
But that is but a handful; less than five million I should guess.
The rest are ignorant serfs to be exploited by our Big Business.
Some will free themselves by revolt as they are trying to do in
Indo-China and may soon in North Africa. The five millions
of Madagascar may erect their private system of home exploita-
tion; a few more will become citizens and turn into exploiters
of their kin, as John plans. It's a mess, Mansart, I admit. But
what is the future of the world's colonies? Can you see it? I
can't.”
"I don't know. They must be led. Missionaries have proven
but tools of Big Business. Business benevolence differs only in
degree from Business for profit. I wonder if the world will ever
produce a power which will open the way for colonies really to
become free?"
"What is free?"
Mansart thought. “The right to vote, to work, to go to a
school. ..."
"No, freedom is the right to use the wealth they produce for
themselves! Nothing else matters," said Villiers.
“Yes, something else—the knowledge how to use that produce
for science, health and art.”
“It's impossiblel" said Villiers.
“Is it? If it is, civilization is impossible!"
“That may be so."
“In fact, it has been in Spain.”
"Spain?" Mansart looked puzzled.
“Do not tell me that you do not know what my country,
Britain and the United States have been doing—are doing to the
people of Spain?”
Mansart was silent. No, he did not know. He had read
something about a civil war there; and now a new leader, Franco,
but ...
"Germany and Italy are helping crush the Spanish republic;
the United States, contrary to all its traditions is refusing arms.
It is wicked. But surely you have heard of the International
Briis wicked. But contrary to aning crush the
"I never heard of it,” confessed Mansart. Within he began


The Color of Europe
in attic from that complete
to wonder how much of the real history of the world was being
hidden from him.
After a month, a wonderful and unforgettable month, Mansart
left France and through Switzerland came into Germany. It was
now no longer a guided tour thoughtfully planned by careful
friends. He was now on his own, face to face with white Europe.
He met nothing of American indifference and antagonism, but also
he met few friends. The surrounding world was curious and
sometimes startled at his dark face, but he was treated with care-
ful courtesy in hotels and restaurants and on the streets. He
carried with him thoughts and memories of what he had been
through, but he was unable to bring away from France as he had
from England the picture of a complete civilization. France was
something different from that; it was a continually developing
idea; a certain attitude toward life; a way of thought and of
changing ideal. It meant something when France had a dozen
political parties, and England and the United States, two-or
one with two names. But he was happy with the memories that
he brought. He had something that he would never forget so
long as he lived.
Mansart's trip to Germany was part of the plan of Americans
of German descent, to bring Americans and Germans together;
and after much thought it was decided that it might be well to
include a Negro among the visiting Americans, so that in spite
of the race propaganda in this new Germany, the Germans would
realize that there were Negroes in America and that they were
well-treated. The trip then was carefully planned so that Man-
sart should meet as little personal indignity as possible, but on
the other hand there was little of the social contact which he had
had in England and France. He was put on guided tours, he made
visits in company with groups, and he had plenty of leisure
to read.
Mansart went to Switzerland by way of Lyons and Geneva.
He saw the great French manufacturing city much more quiet
and settled than similar American or British towns, but skillful,
tasteful, and with a certain contentment and happiness.
Then he went on to Geneva, crossed the beautiful lake of
Lausanne, and came to Bern. He never forgot that sight of the
Alps at Bern. He was standing on the high plaza looking up over


48
WORLDS OF COLOR
the city to the mountains and the great white cloud formations
above, and thinking how lovely it all was. And then almost
by accident he raised his eyes to the skies and there above the
towers, above the mountains and above the clouds, rose the
startling magnificence of the high Alps with their silver peaks
piercing to the top of the sky. He shuddered in ecstasy. Never
before had he seen anything quite so magnificent. And he said to
himself, “With all its dirt and sin and disappointment, this world
is a beautiful, a very beautiful thing."
Eventually, by rail Manuel Mansart came to Munich in South
Germany. He used haltingly some of the German which he had
learned in school. He realized that this city was being re-built
and renewed in folkways as the center of that new rising power
in Germany under Adolf Hitler. It was almost by accident
that he went to see the Museum of Technology. Never before
had he witnessed anything like it. He saw the modern world
in microcosm. It had 70,000 exhibits extending through nine
miles of rooms. Merely to glimpse it Mansart spent four days
walking through. There were seventy-three rooms devoted to
geology, mining and metallurgy, with a complete coal mine.
There were thirty rooms for transportation and twenty-one rooms
for clocks, mechanics and electricity. Ten rooms exhibited
sound and music, and in the rooms devoted to chemistry one
could traverse four centuries in an hour. All the wood products
of the world were there, and three planetariums illustrating the
heavens. All this technique was the foundation of the power
which Europe had directed for her world domination, and this
was the explanation of the world in 1936.
Mansart realized that while he knew something of raising
raw material-cotton, rice and sugar, corn, wheat and peanuts-
of the intricate and long processes by which material was turned
into consumer goods, he and his people knew little. He turned
to his guide, an old man, white-haired and white-bearded, who
spoke several languages well and clearly and had evidently been
a man of status once in his life; but now beginning to break,
with no light in his eyes. Mansart started to ask him some
technical questions about the exhibit, and then suddenly found
himself saying,
"Sir, when Germans have all this and can use it, why do they
fight?"


The Color of Europe
49
The man stopped and stared at him, reddened and then seeing
how serious Mansart was, said:
“That, sir, will take some telling, but perhaps if you will join
me at lunch we can talk about it."
They went out together at noon, and Mansart suggested apolo-
getically that the guide allow him to be the host and that they
go to some well-known restaurant so that he could see something
of the real life of Munich. The guide hesitated and then said,
"There is one restaurant in town which every stranger ought to
see, and that is the Münchner Hofbräu. I cannot afford to go
there but if you can, I will be your guest there. At one time this
was the greatest restaurant in Bavaria, with the finest beer. It
has lost much of its prestige and its beer is just ordinary stuff,
to be exported to ..." He started to say, “America," and then
added ". . . foreigners.”
“Let me tell you, young man,” he proceeded, “Germany,
although separated and provincial, was a great country in the
17th and 18th centuries. Its work then, its thought, its science,
can never be forgotten. But politically we were in a strait-
jacket, so that men were asking: 'Where is the German fatherland?'
We were humiliated by the French and by an Italian peasant
with delusions of grandeur.
“In the 19th century we had to fight in order to form what
we thought would be a self-protecting nation, one of the great
three countries of the world. The Germans would think, France
would feel, and let England trade. I was at one time a professor
in one of our greatest universities. I saw our science, our music,
our social investigations leading the world, so that those who
wanted to do and know studied in Germany. Where else?
“We had to make ourselves an armed nation. And led by the
great Bismarck and culminating at Sedan, we became the Ger-
man Empire. But this was not the world that it used to be when
we started on this path. It was a changed world. It was a world
which was not built of nations unified, each with its own educated
directing and laboring classes; but part of a new organization of
dominant nations where the working classes were not mainly
within the nations but in colonies overseas. And we Germans
had no colonies and unless we got colonies we were going to fall
far behind in what was a world fight.


50
WORLDS OF COLOR
I was But I the gulo thre
“Even our great Bismarck did not recognize this. He did not
want colonies. He wanted a unified Germany. He gave Africa
to France and Britain, and ignored Asia. But he was forcibly
put out of office, and into power came the men who knew that
Germany must have colonies, a navy and an army to maintain
its place in the world.” He paused and asked:
“Do you remember the Races Congress in London, in 19u?"
"No," said Mansart. “I was teaching at the time and read about
it in our magazine, the Crisis. But I could not attend.”
“It was a great meeting," answered the guide. "It would have
been epoch-making if it had not come on the threshold of world
war. There were great and wise men there and they were trying
to unite the world across the barriers of race. Black, yellow and
white men met and conferred as equals. They would have been
very influential if at that time it had not been absolutely necessary
for the survival of Germany to restrain England and France in
their headlong economic imperialism. I remember some of the
colored men there-Indians, Chinese and Japanese-one young
black social scientist from America, from a school called Wilber-
force, Earl Finch. And an editor who read a poem. But Science
and Poetry were not listened to. Indeed, it was one of our own
greatest scientists who said at that meeting-and almost disrupted
it-that Germany must arm for war! He meant that Industry and
Commerce must rule civilization and not considerations of human-
ity, happiness and knowledge.
"Well, it was all of no use. We armed, we fought, we lost
the flower of our youth, and we went down into the fires of hell.
Do you realize what happened to Germany at Versailles? Do you
realize the succession of blows that have prostrated this nation
since? Look at me. I was once an honored man, with a small
but assured income from a pension so that I could have ended
my life in study and ease. I lost everything. I am now the
paid servant of foreigners, from most of whom I do not meet the
courtesy that you have shown me today.”
And so, after eating in this great and garish restaurant with
crowds of tourists and few Germans, they went back to finish the
Museum of Technology.
From Munich Mansart went north to Beyreuth. This was a
tribute to his daughter, Sojourner, at home. He himself knew


The Color of Europe
51
works of had lived anqeeding who reeding
little of music and drama but he must not miss this opportunity
to hear the great works of Richard Wagner. He found lodging
on a street where once Liszt had lived and not far from Wagner's
own home. The hostess was a lady of breeding who spoke Eng-
lish quite well. She recognized her guest's innate breeding but
hesitated at his color. She was a widow, whose sole fortune was
this beautiful house in the better part of the city. Here she made
a living by giving board and lodging to tourists, chiefly English
and American. The color prejudice of Americans was well-known
and even among Germans there was being expressed a new race
prejudice due to the rise of Hitler and his doctrines. Neverthe-
less, she yielded to the chance of free opportunity to see the old
and wonderful operas and accepted Mansart's hesitating invi-
tation to accompany him. It was different from anything that he
had conceived. The opera was really a day's work. One went out
to the suburbs, arriving at four in the afternoon, and sitting down
to the curtain at five. Then, for three hours one looked and
listened. At eight all paused an hour for dinner: elaborate courses,
easy conversation, lounging. And then they went back for an-
other two or three hours of theater. Except in the case of one
English couple, the presence of Mansart excited no comment. A
few stared, but on the whole the hostess enjoyed the evening.
What astonished Mansart was the picture of the German soul
which this music and theater painted. He thought how among
American Negroes, legend and fantasy might thus be wed to his-
trionic ability and imagination, to build a great dramatic tradi-
tion. The one here was magnificent. The rolling thunder of
the music transported him. He did not pretend to understand it.
Sometimes it was vague and voiceless, but at other times he knew
what Wagner meant and what he had accomplished. Especially
at that last portrayal of the Death of the Gods, the power and
glory of the music gripped him. He could never forget it.
When he returned home he talked with the hostess and as she
conversed with him tears came into her eyes. “See what we have
lost, Mr. Mansart. Think of the nation which built this music
and the genius which voiced it. It went down in awful war.
But one man is holding it together, and that is Adolf Hitler.
He keeps Beyreuth going, and I don't care what may be said about
him. This one thing makes him to me the greatest of men. We


52
WORLDS OF COLOR
lost, but not forever, not entirely."
From Beyreuth Mansart went to Frankfurt, and then took that
unforgettable journey down the Rhine. The boats were less
crowded and slower, naturally, than those coming up from Rot-
terdam. Nevertheless there was more time and even with Man.
sart's small knowledge of German one could listen to conversation
and look at the people.
One afternoon they were passing mountains. They saw old
castles, lovely vineyards and nestling towns. Mansart seemed
vaguely to remember about one mountain and consulted his
guidebook. Then he turned to a fellow-traveller and said in
halting German:
“Is not this the Lorelei and is not there a song?"
The German scowled at him. “Ja!” he snapped, "Das is die
Lorelei. Aber heute, kein echte Deutscher singt das lied der Juden,
Heine! (But no German sings the song of that Jew, Heine!)” And
almost at the moment a group of boys and girls on vacation began
to sing a song, but it was not the Lorelei.
Mansart asked no more questions. He saw the busy Ruhr,
that great manufacturing district, whose work and profit united
French and German capitalists even in the midst of war. And
then after a hurried glimpse of Holland and Belgium-crowded,
clean, well-to-do and busy, he came to the real object of this trip,
Tervourien.
The beautiful building was set within a magnificent park
and yet began on a false note. In its first room was the exhibit
of the exploitable riches of Africa on which European culture
could be built. The Belgian Congo was fourteen times the size
of the mother state and from the first was regarded primarily
as a profitable investment. The worst outrages of Leopold had
now been curbed. Missions were at work on elementary educa-
tion and laws restricting the great corporations had been enacted.
But still, as Mansart could see as he wandered through the endless
and beautifully arranged rooms, the chief end of the Belgian
Congo today, as it was under Leopold I, was to increase the pri-
vate fortunes of Belgian, and of European and American capi-
talists.
Mansart remembered the story of cheating and cruelty which
had made the heart of Africa a colony of Europeans. He re-


The Color of Europe
53
membered particularly the flamboyant promise of Henry M.
Stanley peacefully to plant “Christianity and civilization." In
fact, they planted theft, murder and disease, while the people
died at their hands. But here they were, the people and their
products, but from the first room to the last exhibit, the emphasis
was not on the people nor on their products but on the profit
which the processing and sale of these products would bring; and
would bring not to black men but to white.
Mansart now journeyed overland. He stopped at Eisenach near
Luther's Wartburg, and at Goethe's Weimar. Then down by
the great trading houses of Leipzig and the art of Dresden, up to
Berlin, the capital of Germany. He was met at the station by a
call, blond-haired youth, who greeted him in excellent English
and took him out to the small but neat suburban home where
he was assigned to stay by the Carl Schurz Foundation. The
mother was gracious and kept a typical, neat German home. She
did not speak English but as time went on she and Mansart
talked together with the help of her tall son. Soon her grievance
and her prayer burst out. This son of hers, with all his Nordic
blondness and evident talent, could get neither work, education
nor a career in the Germany of that day, because as she said, “His
father was a Jew!"
Mansart evidently looked astonished and puzzled, but she ex-
plained.
"With the new racial philosophy which Hitler has brought,
the state helps only Germans. Others, even those half-German,
can get no encouragement nor support.
"My son therefore has but one alternative, and that is to leave
Germany. I especially asked to have you stop with us because I
wanted to beg you to use your influence to get an opening for my
son in America."
Mansart smiled wryly, and then was near to tears. It was
difficult to explain to this woman how little influence he had in
America and how he would be the last man on earth to be able
to help this young man in finding a career. It seemed as though
even to the last the woman could not quite understand.
Mansart began to see and know Berlin as a great and efficient
modern city. But it was tense, filled with meetings and its streets
thundered with glaring radio propaganda. It was curiously upset


54
WORLDS OF COLOR
with what Mansart regarded as unimportant things. For in-
stance, he went to a movie to see the fight of Joe Louis with
Schmeling. The audience was in turmoil. Their championship
of the German fighter was uproarious. Their race hate of the
young brown contender was frightening. When Louis was knocked
out the whole audience went berserk. One would have thought that
St. George had slain the Dragon. Mansart could hardly under-
stand. The scene, however, was made clearer when he visited the
Olympic games held in Berlin that summer.
The setting was imposing and Mansart thrilled to witness so
fine an example of human equality, as dark figures threaded the
stadium and every race and nation bore its banners aloft. It hap-
pened that American Negro athletes were unusually prominent.
Owens, little and lithe, won the 100 and 200 meter races and the
broad jump, over world competition. The stadium thundered
with applause. Woodruff, tall, thin and brilliant bronze, won
che 800 meter run; and big, black Johnson soared to victory in the
high jump. And then Hitler, who had paraded and poured praise
on the white victors, failed to put in an appearance. It was a petty
pout, but it spoiled Mansart's feeling of triumph, just as it shamed
many Germans.
Mansart's guides, however, were careful that he should see
just what the new Germany was doing.
“You must realize what Hitler has done for us. A year ago
we had seven million unemployed. You must see the roads and
homes which he has built. Remember what the Treaty of Ver-
sailles did to us and is still attempting to do. But, by God, we'll
escape. Germany will rise again.”
Then, there were also Germans whom he met who were more
apologetic and knew that Mansart sensed that all was not well and
that there was opposition to dominant trends. One professor at
the University burst out in the midst of his defense of the Nazis
and said,
"But there are limits. I will not be pushed too far."
He did not go into details and years after Mansart wondered
how far he had been pushed.
Once Mansart was invited to supper at the apartment of a
teacher in a gymnasium, as German high schools are called. There
were six or eight persons present and Mansart could not help


The Color of Europe
55
ish problemed the Negt now he su
noticing that when after eating they relaxed for conversation,
the curtains were lowered, and during the rest of the evening the
voices remained low. The teacher said bluntly:
"I am ashamed of what we are doing to the Jews.” Then im-
mediately he began some justification. “Of course, the Jews them-
selves are in part to blame. They have bought up lands and prop-
erty. They are pushing the small German shopkeepers into bank-
ruptcy. They are flooding the professions. I know, I know, but
that does not excuse the treatment some of them are getting.
I am ashamed!”
Mansart listened during the evening to charge and counter-
charge, and to overwhelming excuse and bitter regret. Mansart
listened and wondered. He knew in a general way that Germany
had a Jewish problem. He had intended to find out how far
this problem resembled the Negro problem in America, but
hitherto had seen no opportunity. Now he suddenly remembered
the letter from Max Rosenfels which he had not yet delivered.
Next day he excused himself from the planned itinerary and went
off by himself. He rode up Friedrichsstrasse across the Spree to
Oranienburgerstrasse and there found, after some search, in a
basement the number he was looking for. It was a dark and un-
inviting bookshop. There were no customers and apparently no
attendant. He browsed a while and finally, raising his voice
asked in German:
"Anybody here?”
A thin man finally emerged from the back, dressed in a long
black gown and spectacled. He said softly, “Did you want some-
thing?"
Mansart handed him a list of several books which he had
decided he ought to read, including Marx' Capital, a History of
Jews in Germany, some books on Russia, and others. The man
scarcely glancing at the list handed it back to him and said,
"Sorry, but we have none of these," and turned to leave.
But Mansart addressed him again. “Are you the proprietor
of this shop?"
The man looked at him suspiciously. "No," he said.
“But," said Mansart, “I have a letter for the proprietor."
The man stopped, took the letter, read it and rushed into the
back of the shop. After some pause he came back with an older


56
WORLDS OF COLOR
man, and hurriedly, after looking out on the street, they took
him into the back. While the younger man returned and lingered
in the shop, the old man talked.
“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome! Pardon our manners. We
have to be very careful. I am glad to hear from my cousin Max.
You must tell him when you go home that we are in bad way,
that millions of Jews will die and be ruined before this world
is much older.”
And then they had a long talk. "You see,” said the Rabbi,
“German Jews for centuries have made common cause with the
aristocracy and lost the sympathy, indeed invited the enmity,
of the workers and shopkeepers. That was not entirely the Jews'
fault. They were not allowed to work as artisans or farmers or
to trade in earlier times. They became bankers and merchants,
and in alliance with the privileged classes made their way and
gained at least in part their freedom. The French Jews made
similar alliance with the leaders of the new Big Business and
they're still prosperous. The British Jews joined in commerce
and with the politicians. The Russian Jews had the foresight
to join with the workers and forward the socialism of the world.”
“Socialism?” asked Mansart. “Do you think Socialism will
win?”
“Will win?" replied the rabbi, “It has won! We're all socialists
now. Every country has some degree of socialism. Even your own
Roosevelt is leading a socialist revolution. The difference you see
is difference of leadership, of dictatorship. The ignorant mass
cannot lead itself into economic emancipation, requiring scientif-
ic technique and capital, with the forces and classes now against
it. Here in Germany, this Hitler has made alliance with the
great corporations. They are going to give the mass of people
as much socialism as will keep them quiet.
"In France, the state owns and governs education, transpor-
tation and almost all national enterprise. In England, the
power is in the hands of the aristocracy, with help from the
skilled artisans. Whether they will win through this partial
dictatorship I do not know. You see, if such an experiment as the
Russian should succeed, if the mass of the working people could
really secure a dictatorship which would guide the state toward


The Color of Europe
57
complete socialism, the more would be emancipated. But they
can't. It will be impossible for people so ignorant and inex-
perienced as the Russians to choose or keep in power a dictator-
ship of the proletariat. They will fall out among themselves and
then the foreigners will rush in.”
"But I understand,” said Mansart, “they are having some
success.”
"Some success, yes, I hope more; but I doubt it. I seriously
doubt it. If they should succeed, then the dream of our Karl Marx
might come true. The mass of people would be so well educated
and trained, so experienced and so schooled in new folk ways,
that they would not need a state. But that is a dream, a wild
dream.
“But I am glad to see you, Mr. Mansart, because I want to
call attention to one mistake that you American Negroes are
making. You are trying to make alliance with the old planter
class, and the new rich of the North. That's a great mistake.
First of all, it makes the worker and the poor whites your ene-
mies. They lead the mobs and do the lynching. You have
got to change your alliances or you are going to lose.”
Mansart was astonished. “I cannot believe it!” he said. “I
cannot believe it! At any rate, I think after all I ought to see
Russia!”
But Mansart had to remember that his chief errand in Ger-
many was to learn of industrial education in the German state.
To this he now turned as his time was growing short. He soon
learned that Germany was not seeking to use industry as a means
of education. It was using education as a means of carrying on
and perfecting industry. So too, Mansart knew that in America
the white philosophy back of the Tuskegee idea was not to use
industry to teach Negroes, but Negroes to help industry.
In 1936, the electrical industry of Germany and a large part
of Europe was divided between two great German corporations
of which Siemens was the oldest and largest. It was capitalized
at $100,000,000 and employed more than sixty thousand of the
highest skilled workers in Europe.
By permission, Mansart entered this city within a city. Among
the many factories was one large, seven-story building. The chief


58
WORLDS OF COLOR
aim of this building was to produce a human product of the
most careful and precise nature, to be used in the productive
processes of this mighty industry. Industry here was dealing
with men as it would deal with cotton: studying them, experiment-
ing with them. Knowing exactly what it wanted men for, it
proceeded with painstaking care, endless experiment and expert
training to deliver a finished product which was unsurpassed
in the world for efficient, delicate, precise and regular workman-
ship.
It takes from grammar school or high school graduates, 150
apprentices each year. They are children who have done their
school work well, and the children of employees of the company
were preferred. Only the very best material was selected. Those
whom Mansart saw were from twelve to fifteen years of age,
and were going to study four years after careful testing. The
students were paid as they studied, not much but an increasing
part of their living expenses were thus met as they proceeded
through the course. They were entering a life work, would
follow it all their working years and be pensioned after they were
retired.
With a skilled working class, educated for a specific life
work, it was evident to Germany that democratic control of the
state could not be entrusted to them. Industry in Germany was
to be controlled by a closely knit hierarchy for support of a
wealthy class to whom the bulk of income and of power went.
While these workers had some democratic power in their public
life, in choice of local government officials and other smaller
matters, on the other hand, in the great matters of government
policy, general laws and the distribution of capital, of indus-
trial aim and organization, of colonial administration, there was no
democracy. The demands of the workers through their trade unions
could not be wholly disregarded, but these demands were mainly
in the matter of wages, and these wages and conditions of work
must be improved and the cost of them taken from profits. This
process, naturally, had to be watched carefully.
It was clear, not of course from what Mansart heard in the
factory or from his interpreters, but from the newspapers and the
broadcasts and from a colonial exposition which he visited, that


The Color of Europe
59
the Germans thought they must have colonies and that the new
colonies must not be simply those they lost in the First World War
but larger colonial territory; that these colonies would supply
this great industrial machine with raw materials raised on cheap
land by cheap colonial labor.
The new colonial territory might be, of course, conceded by
Britain or France in the face of the new German army and navy.
But the chief idea of Germany in 1936, to Mansart's surprise, was
that the new territory was to come from Soviet Russia, and it
was Germany's growing thought and aim to take this territory.
Consequently there was, while Mansart was in Germany, furious
propaganda against the Soviets. Communism was denounced,
its crimes were emphasized, and its inevitable failure foretold.
Yet, and this is what intrigued Mansart, most methods which
Russia had followed or announced were being imitated in Ger-
many. Germany was a “socialist” state, in the sense that to an
increasing degree the government owned and controlled industry.
It controlled money and banking; it was moving toward ownership
and control of land. Work and wages, roads and homes, were un-
der government control. There remained only the question: Who
will control the government?
When the dictators arose in Italy and in Germany, the indus-
trial world of England, France and America applauded because
they saw in the dictators an answer to Communism. Mansart was
continually astonished at the way in which Russia was the center
of German, if not of European thought. Before that, to Mansart's
recollection, Russia had been significant mainly as a national
problem which was going to be of tremendous importance to the
world. But it was no threat; rather an experiment and a dream
yet to be realized or to die with noble memories.
But in Germany in 1936 Russia was a fact; an accomplished
experiment, so successful as to pose the immediate question of
acceptance by modern culture or violent uprooting by every means.
Britain was an enemy, but an enemy to be copied in success and
method. France was an ideal which needed only German science.
Italy was an ally. But Russia was something threatening which
must be put under German control.
Here came Adolf Hitler, a psychopath and a dreamer, with


60
WORLDS OF COLOR
delusions of grandeur, frustrated by poverty and war; ruthless
in his idealism; bold, cunning, with a voice of brass and a knowl-
edge of the human soul. This was the instrument which the cap-
tains of German industry picked out at the time of their defeat
and despair to become master, not only of Germany but of Europe
and possibly of the modern world.
Hitler was an artisan. He came from a part of Austria where
the anti-Jewish feeling was strong, as was also his own economic
rivalry with Jews as a worker. In 1932 Germany had been near
anarchy. The next year, although still a minority, the Nazis
attacked Jews, burned the Reichstag building and took power.
Industry was frightened, the Junkers were frightened, the mana-
gers, engineers and small shopkeepers were frightened. They all
submitted to a man who had been at first a joke, then a pest,
and who now suddenly loomed as a dictator. Union labor, with its
8,000,000 members, proceeded to squabble as to whether to usher
in the millenium immediately or gradually; through this squabble
Adolf Hitler and Big Industry drove a carriage and four.
The greatest single invention of World War I was propaganda-
the systematic distortion of the truth for the purpose of making
large numbers of people believe anything authority wished them
to believe. It grew into an art, if not a science. Nowhere was it
used to such tremendous advantage as by Hitler in Germany.
Newspapers, public speakers, the radio, expositions, celebrations,
books and periodicals, every possible vehicle of information and
training, including schools, were used on German people to teach
them that they were the most remarkable people on earth; that
the National Socialist government would be the best government
for Germany, if not for the world; that other countries, especially
Russia, were in the depths of misery and that Jews were respon-
sible for all criticism heaped on Germany and for most of the
other ills of modern countries.
All this Mansart learned while in Germany, while talking with
his English-speaking companions, from several confidential inter-
views with German teachers and workers, from listening to the
endless broadcasts as they were interpreted to him; and by walk-
ing, looking, listening. His stay in Germany could by no means
be compared to his experiences in England and France. He made
almost no friends. He came into no intimate contact with the


The Color of Europe
61
people. But he did do much reading, and he began to under-
stand Germany as never before. He got some glimpse of what it
had been in the 19th century-a great country of science and edu-
cation, of ideals, with music and art. A people which, rising
from the utter depths of conquest under the first Napoleon be-
came in its own eyes and even that of the world, one of the great-
est if not the greatest country on earth, and now was in the
midst of revolution.


CHAPTER IV
THE COLOR OF ASIA
Rusised by frience that pend that no the idea.
All this, of course, made Mansart eager to visit Russia, that weird
land around which all revolutionary hope and fear were swirl-
ing, and thence to pass on for a glance at Asia. He had had
Russia in mind when he first began this trip, but he had been
advised by friends and people whom he had met in America, Eng-
land and France that perhaps such a trip would not be wise; that
Russia was in turmoil and that no one knew just how things were
coming out. So he had given up the idea. But he was going to
Asia, and the quickest way to Asia was across Russia by way of
the Trans-Siberian railroad. It seemed foolish and too costly for
him to go around by the Mediterranean. So he thought that per-
haps he could spend a month in Russia and then go on.
This he found out was not possible. For some reason which he
could not imagine, he was refused the right to stop in Russia.
He did not know about the unfortunate experiences of the Rus-
sian Intourist effort; and of the new strains which the West was
beginning to put upon this struggling country. So that the best
he could do was to make the trip from Moscow into Manchuria
without halt. This he finally decided upon. He wrote home as he
started east:
"It is October, 1936. I am in Russia. I am here where the
world's greatest experiment in organized life is in the making,
whether it fails or not. Nothing since the discovery of Amer-
ica and the French Revolution is of equal importance. And
yet this experiment is being made in the midst of unexampled
hostility; amid deep-seated bitterness and recrimination such
as men reserve usually for crime, degeneracy and blasphemy."
He neared Mongolia and wrote:
“We were nearing Mongolia, and already in the Province
of the Buriats. The slim firs stood sturdily with straight heads
62


The Color of Asia
63
and shoulders sagging with snow. The lonely silence of a
Siberian night was about us. We climbed down a pass in the
Black Mountains, following a river half hidden in ice. Sud-
denly the tempo of the scene changed. A large new factory
blazed up in the night. Great piles of lumber lined the river
bank. An electric road showed a beginning of modern road-
making. Tracks of rails stretched wide on either side, until a
modern railway yard was evident. Then we swept into Ve-
reudinsk, now newly named, and the world was soldiers. They
filled the depot, covered the platform, crowded a standing
train and marched about in overcoats to their heels, buttoned
closely; some with guns, some with bundles. All was now
clear. This was a frontier point of concentration against the
threat of Japan.
"Ten thousand miles east of our East lies a land, lonely
and dust-swept, pregnant with history in the dim past. Hence
came the Mongol hordes that swept from Asia to Germany
and Italy, and changed the history of the modern world. Brown
men they were and yellow, with broad faces and flat noses
and wild, straight black hair. They are here about me today,
November 1936—perhaps 25,000,000 of them-in Inner and
Outer Mongolia and in Manchuria.
"It was a new world. My color was nothing unusual. All
the world was sallow, yellow or brown, except the blonde white
Russian girls who waited on tables in the restaurants and on
the dining car. The train swung out toward the East. I was
in a Pullman car made in America. The porter was not of
my own expert race, and I felt like giving him a few pointers.
The roadbed was better than in Siberia. Always war hovered
near us. They pulled down the curtains early. I wanted to
look out but fortunately I first read the posted notices: ‘Pas-
sengers between Hake and Agounor must not look out of the
windows on penalty of severe punishment.' I did not look
out.
"We swept along a great, wide plain, and the cold wind
poured straight down from the North Pole. It was a desolate,
barren land, and the seldom folk crept wearily along the
lonely way. Then the whole scene changed as if by magic. We
slipped out of the desolation of the northern desert. We flew
easily on a perfect roadbed, ballasted with rock, and in Japa.
nese cars better than Pullmans. The service was perfect. We
were leaving the old border and haunts of the bandits, the
modern successors of Genghis Khan. We came to Hsinksing,


64
WORLDS OF COLOR
capital of the new Manchurian state, set up by Japan in 1932.
"I hurried on to China which was end and aim of all im-
perial planning, from America to Japan and from the oth
century to the 20th. In the morning I went down to the great
harbor of Dairen. My friends handed me three colored stream-
ers of farewell, and following the beautiful Japanese custom
I and a dozen others held one end while the friends ashore
unwound the other ends until a rainbow of colored strips of
paper streamed from ship to shore and I bade Manchukuo
goodbye.
“China is inconceivable. Here first a man out of the
empty West realizes where the population of the world really
centers. Never before has a land so affected me. China, to
the wayfarer of a little week and I suspect a little year, is in-
comprehensible. I have, of course, a theory and explanation
which brings some vague meaning to the mass of things I have
seen and heard. I understand now as never before how I have
believed the human history set before me and missed the
whole meaning of a people. And this I know: any attempt to
explain the world without giving China a place of extraordi-
nary prominence, is futile. Perhaps the riddle of the universe
will be settled in China, and if not, in no part of the world
which ignores China.
. "I write this standing on the Great Wall of China, with
23 centuries beneath my feet. The purple crags of Manchuria
lie beyond the valley, while behind are the yellow and brown
mountains of China. For seventy cents I have been carried
up on the shoulders of four men and down again. And here
I stand on what has been called the only work of man visible
from Mars. It is no mud fence nor pile of cobbles. It sur-
passes that mighty bastion at Constantinople which for so
many centuries saved Mediterranean civilization from German
barbarism. This is a wall of carefully cut stone, fitted and
laid with clean matching and eternal mortar, from twenty to
fifty feet high, and 2,500 miles long; built by a million men,
castellated with perfect brick, and standing mute and immu-
table for more than two thousand years. Such is China.
"I talked with a group of Chinese leaders and business
men. We talked nearly three hours. I plunged in recklessly.
I told them of my slave ancestors, of my education and trav-
els; of the Negro problem in America. Then I turned on
them and said: 'How far do you think Europe can continue
to dominate the world; or how far do you envisage a world


The Color of Asia
65
whose spiritual center is Asia and the colored races? You
have escaped from the domination of Europe politically since
the World War-at least in part; but how do you propose to
escape from the domination of European capital? How are
your working classes progressing? Why is it that you hate
Japan more than Europe when you have suffered more from
England, France and Germany than from Japan?'”
Mansart wanted to forestall the usual question and comment
of foreigners on the Negro problem in America and instead elicit
so far as possible information about China from Chinese lips. He
continued:
"I saw today something on the streets of your city which
reminded me of America. A well-dressed English child of per-
haps six years was walking with his nurse along the Bund
when he met some Chinese children, small, poorly dressed
and dirty. With a gesture he ordered them off the sidewalk;
they meekly obeyed and walked in the gutter. In general the
whites here treat the Chinese just as we Negroes are treated
in the Southern United States. I hear that only recently have
Chinese been admitted to the Race Track which is the fash-
ionable amusement center of your city. The white foreigners
rule your city, force your children into separate schools and
in general act as though they owned China and the Chinese.
Why do you permit this?”
In later years, Mansart was deeply ashamed of calling this con-
ference and asking these questions because he came to realize
how abysmally ignorant he was of China and her history. He had
never studied or read Chinese history or literature. In elementary
school, China was a joke and its people “queer." In college he
learned about the kings of England and France but nothing of the
Han or Ming emperors. At this very moment, in 1936, Mansart
had no dream of the frightful tragedy playing over China, or of
the “Long March" of 8,000 miles, circling from Fukien to Yunnan,
Szechwan and Shenshi. Just then, Chu Teh, of whom Mansart
never heard, fleeing from capture in the freezing snows of Tibet,
was starting out to join Mao Tse-tung in the future Red Capital of
Yennan. The long-enslaved, raped and murdered peasants of
China were at last reeling to their feet, covered with blood and lice,


66
WORLDS OF COLOR
PY
to rule a world. And yet, of their fateful history of three thousand
years and its bloody culmination in the twentieth century, Mansart
in his ignorance was questioning Chinese leaders in Shanghai as
to why they let the West insult and rule them! They must have
wondered whether he was fool or spy.
Of what the West had done to China since 1839, Mansart had
heard little-of the Opium Wars to enrich England and reduce
China to a colony; of the Chinese revolt called the Taiping “re-
bellion,” in which the whoremonger and murderer, Chinese Gor-
don, began his saintly career which ended when the Negroes of
the Sudan cut off his head; of the slave trade in Chinese coolies
which sent cheap labor to America and the second frenzied revolt
of the Chinese under the Boxers in 1899, when the Christian world
united to steal China's treasures and partition her land. All this
was either distorted or utterly unknown to this colored American.
When he asked why they submitted to the West, there was a sensible
pause quite as awkward for Mansart as for the five Chinese present
at the dinner. Mansart remembered how often he had sat in
similar quandary when well-meaning strangers had stripped his soul
bare in public and blandly asked him why and how and what?
Present with him today were five persons—the superintendent of the
Chinese elementary schools; the president of a college, supported
largely by missionary funds from the United States; a young
banker; a well-to-do merchant; and a civil servant.
The school superintendent spoke first. “We are, sir, as you say,
in a sense strangers and outcasts in our own land. That we realize
each day. But we are not sitting supinely by and doing nothing.
Oh, no! Europe is not always going to own and rule Asia. We have
started a good system of schools, well supported, with Chinese teach-
ers. There are not enough schools, to be sure, but they are grow-
ing. We share today in the government of this city as we did not
a decade ago, and there is no longer exclusion of Chinese citizens
from public places.”
“But,” said the merchant, “as you surmise, the chief difficulty
is industrial. The Chinese are poor, miserably poor, and crowded
into this city in a great hungry mass; foreign capital can easily
get work done at the lowest wages and there is yet no effective
effort to keep the income of the poor much above starvation.
Such unions as we have are ineffective, and the Chinese employers
work done at thereat hungry masmaiserably poor,


68
WORLDS OF COLOR
his ears. He knew of British culture before he went to England;
he knew much of France before he saw it. But of China what little
he knew was mostly distortion. Through that false fog he saw
little even when he stood with open eyes.
One of his final days he spent in Hangchow, that lovely city of
islands and palatial homes, of tree and verdure, where the wealth
of Chinese rests in peace. It was a singular echo of that other
great monument at which he but glanced, that magnificent palace
of the proud Empress Dowager where, with imperial gesture, this
indomitable ruler of hundreds of millions of human beings tossed
away the money which her nation gave her for a navy to defend
them from the West, and instead built a fairyland of water, bridge
and stone, of ebony and ivory, of flower and fountain and vine,
of lovely couch and carved statue-to speak of Beauty and never
of War.
Across the straits Mansart hurried to Japan, the one colored
nation whose talent, industry and military might the white West
feared. He looked on the island mountains with intense curiosity.
He sensed a difference immediately. In China he had received every
courtesy and yet he knew that China felt itself part of a white world
and planned its future as part of that world. No sooner had he
set foot in Japan than he felt himself in a colored nation who hated
the white world just as he, despite all effort, did himself. He was
received almost as a fellow-citizen. He again wrote home:
“I have never been welcomed to a land, least of all to my
own, as I was welcomed to Japan. I was helped past the
port officials, white Americans being politely but firmly el-
bowed aside, to their open-mouthed surprise. It was aston-
ishing to be at last in a colored country, able and determined
to run itself without white advice. And Japan considers
itself colored and not white. I have already tested this in
conversation and suggestion.
"What is Japan? I am, I admit, prejudiced in its favor.
But I am trying to judge it fairly. First of all, it is colored.
The blonde haired world of my summer and fall is gone.
The hair of the Japanese is coal black, with once in a thou-
sand a faint brown. The skins vary from white to sallow,
and then to yellow and brown. Casually, if I woke up sud-
denly in Japan, I should imagine myself among New Orleans
or Charleston mulattoes.


The Color of Asia
69
"But the most extraordinary thing about the Japanese
is not physical; it is spiritual. 'They are independent and
self-reliant and self-sufficient colored folk in a world now
dominated by whites. They have no fear of white folks nor
secret envy. Whatever white folk do or have done, the Japa-
nese are sure they can do better.
"It was the fear of England that was pushing Japan.
England dominated China and India, Australia and New Zea-
land. But for the grace of God and the vigilance of the
Japanese, she would own Japan. At one time during and
after the Russo-Japanese war, recognizing the power and
ability of the Japanese, England made alliance with her
as an equal. Then, with no reason except the unstated one
of color prejudice in America, South Africa and Australia,
Britain broke the alliance in 1921, unwilling to link her
fortunes with yellow people.
"Japan found herself between the devil and the deep blue
sea; rapprochement with China, based on blood kinship
and cultural likeness, was stopped by war and boycott,
and reached unbelievable depths of hatred. Japan saw China
kow-towing to the West, dragging whites about in human-
powered rickshaws; she sensed nothing of the unbreakable
strength of China, beneath a thousand years of humility.
Europeans secretly and openly encouraged a split between
these colored peoples which played directly into their hands.
There seemed nothing for Japan to do but seek alliance with
Germany and Italy, despite the fact that Germany despises
yellow races and Italy's hands are red with the blood of
black Africa.
“There is poverty in Japan; there is oppression; there
is no democratic freedom. But nowhere in the modern world
is there higher literacy, as newspaper circulations of one,
three and even five millions prove. The Japanese laborer
is not happy but he is not hopelessly discontented, for he
belongs to the same class and family as the highest Japanese.
They will guide and protect. He will obey.
"To me, the tragedy of this epoch was that Japan
learned Western ways too soon and too well, and turned
from Asia to Europe. She had a fine culture, an exquisite
art, and an industrial technique miraculous in workmanship
and adaptability. The Japanese clan was an effective social
organ and her art expression was unsurpassed. She might
have led Asia and the world into a new era. But her head-


WORLDS OF COLOR
strong leaders chose to apply Western imperialism to her
domination of the East, and Western profit-making replaced
Eastern idealism. If she had succeeded, it might have hap-
pened that she would indeed have spread her culture and
achieved a co-prosperity sphere with freedom of soul. Per-
haps!”
In the dying days of 1936, while great Fujiyama still veiled its
silver face, Mansart went down to Yokohama and set foot upon the
sea. He sailed east into the sunset again to discover America, in
his own thought and through the thinking and doing of other folk.
Ten days he journeyed until he came, at Christmas, to an unbe-
lievable land of raining sunshine and everlasting flowers, called
Hawaii.
New Years, 1937, he stood in California of fact and fable, with
the city of St. Francis of poverty and the birds before him, and
lifted up his eyes to the hills beyond the Golden Gate. Lifted
them and let them drop; two small years, two little years; suddenly
he saw the whole world again aflame.


CHAPTER V
COLOR IN THE WEST INDIES
Manuel Mansart was standing at the front gate of his campus
in Macon, looking over the grounds. He was scowling a little and
tapping his foot. It was a beautiful morning, one of those soft,
glowing fall days of the South where there is no hint of cold weather
and yet the heat of summer has gone. It was balmy, the trees were
beautiful, and the breezes enticing.
The President had been back from his trip around the world
for several months, and as he looked about he was beginning to
ask himself, why are we here, and for what end? What is our duty
and our ideal?
Just then he heard a sneeze and saw Jean approaching to begin
her morning's work. They greeted each other cordially.
"You've got a cold,” he said.
“Yes, I have. Perhaps I've been overworking a little. It wasn't
really so hard while you were away, but of course there were some
irritating matters. You know, our colored men I think even more
than whites, are not yet used to seeing authority in the hands of
a woman. They knew that I could do your work but they resented
it-not so much in word but in various ways. They resented having
me put over them, and also some of the trustees were a little doubt-
ful of my beliefs. But there was no real difficulty because, after
all, I knew the work and the details and they knew that I knew,
and they let matters go on. But I did have to keep busy and
watchful, and perhaps I'm a bit run down."
“I'm sorry you are,” Mansart said. “I tell you what I think you
ought to do. Take a month off after the holidays and run down to
the West Indies and look about. I got a new slant on the West
Indies while I was in France. A Negro named James gave me his
book to read and it is revolutionary. We must include the West
Indies in our survey. You'll not have time for doing much, but
induce one or two delegates to attend our conference."
"I think I may,” said Jean. And then she asked, “May I ask
71


72
WORLDS OF COLOR
what you were thinking about? That scowl on your forehead was
ominous."
"Yes," he said. “I came home from looking at the world with
the idea that, after all, the object of our life is or should be Beauty,
having lovely things about us. I think of those ancient wooden
temples high in the forests of Japan. I think of that cathedral
near where I lived in England. I think of the castles on the Loire
in France. I think of so many lovely things. This world was meant
to be beautiful. Beauty is, after all, the object of life.”
Jean demurred. “Beauty? Yes, one object, of course. But not only
beauty. In a way, not simply beauty. There must be people to
know it and appreciate it, and they must have time to look and
hear and enjoy. Looking about us here, how many people have
time or training to enjoy a Titian painting or a great piece of
statuary?"
Manuel was silent. Then he said slowly, “Nevertheless, for those
who have time, for those who can, we must have beautiful things,
even while we wait for more folks to enjoy them. And this campus
is ugly. Oh, there are some good things; there are the classic lines
of our Administration Hall. We have kept the old pillars of the
South which the South in some curious way took from the Greeks.
And yonder is a simple but rather fine façade.”
“Yes,” answered Jean. "Only one thing bothers me. The South
in its better homes did keep simple, classic and beautiful lines.
But have you ever thought that the Southern home never had
space or a place for a kitchen, much as it needed kitchens? They
had to be stuck on, apart from the main house.”
Mansart smiled and said, “At any rate I'm going to have some
grass on this campus, or something that looks like grass. I'm going
to have some more trees planted, and then I'm going to have some
pieces of sculpture. And in the halls some good paintings.”
"Finel” said Jean. "Only of course you must remember that
the Trustees are going to ask about the cost of all this!" And
laughing, she went into the building.
She realized that Mansart's wonderful trip around the world
had broadened his outlook and broken down some of the barriers
that had hemmed him in to a narrow racial world. Life had become
beauty, logic, and comfort. But also Jean wondered if this very
breadth was going to make Mansart forget or ignore the narrow


Color in the West Indies
demands of his exacting job from which he had glimpsed so fine
a freedom.
Jean's cold persisted, and after Christmas she planned a trip
to the West Indies. She remembered that from Virginia, through
the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida to Cuba, Haiti, Jamaica, and
Panama, lay an unbroken country where Negroes and mulattoes
were in recurrent majority groups. Whatever touched and influ-
enced one part of this group, influenced the whole. Then she
read James' Black Jacobins and Leger's History of Haiti and other
books. She was astonished and thrilled. She wanted particularly
to stand on that battlefield where Dessalines overthrew the power
of France in 1803.
She went on one of those floating steamers making a round
trip from Miami and touching briefly, all too briefly, at Cuba
and Jamaica, Haiti, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands and the Ba-
hamas. As usual, she travelled alone. She had no white friends
with whom she could go, and of course colored friends could not
secure accommodations.
She was first struck by the unbelievable beauty in these moun-
tains stretching up from the depths of the seas into the heavens,
with glorious foliage and flowers beyond description. And then,
still amazed, she was depressed by the poverty, ignorance, and
disease crawling upon them, dotted here and there with white vul-
garity and tourist extravagance. Especially the tourists infuriated
her-these droves of stupid, gaping fools intermingled with thieves,
gamblers, whores, and idlers. All with money and few with anything
else. Unaware of where they were and blind to what they said,
laughing at the natives, sneering at poverty and ignorance; toss-
ing alms like bones to dogs and revelling in menial service from
cheap "niggers.”
She glimpsed Cuba and Jamaica. She saw the same pattern:
a colored and black aristocracy climbing desperately on the backs
of black peasants in order to ape the wealth and extravagance of
white Englishmen or Americans; while writhing below, great clotted
masses of filth and sorrow, struggling toward the sun, but smothered
with mist so that European race superiority and American robbery
and rape looked like the uplift of man.
Jean debarked at Haiti, looked at Port-au-Prince and then went
north to the Citadel of Christophe and his palace. Then she came


WORLDS OF COLOR
to Cap Haitien and sat in the square. She met the man quite
by accident in the neglected square of Cap Haitien. She had asked
her way in passable French of a loitering boy, to the battlefield
where Dessalines conquered Rochambeau. He did not understand,
speaking only Creole; but the man sitting near answered.
Jean looked at him with interest and instead of immediately
seeking the battlefield, started to talk. The man, Dr. Duval (he
preferred writing it "du Val") was a well-known character on the
Cape. Educated in France and long a teacher in Haiti, he was
now retired on a tiny pension which hardly sufficed for his sup-
port. He spent his time in reading and study and sat almost
daily in the city park with books beside him and pamphlets and
papers in his pockets. His greatest joy was to run across some
intelligent listener with whom he could discuss West Indian
history. He gave information gladly and at length, but was sensi-
tive at any patronage or attempt to pay him for what he regarded
as simple courtesy among gentlefolk. A showy American tourist
once handed him a five dollar bill after receiving his guidance
for nearly an hour. The enraged Duval threw the money in the
gutter and indignantly strode away.
"What the hell ails the nigger,” sputtered the American.
“Wasn't that tip enough?"
Today, the Doctor sensed in Jean an intelligent lady of breed-
ing. He talked voluminously.
He first pointed across the square to the road leading to that
last battlefield November 18, 1803, “when Dessalines and Capois
overthrew the young Rochambeau, leader of the armies of Napo-
leon, who was seeking vainly a new empire in America."
"So Britain seized the West and the United States had Louisiana
and the Pacific thrown into her lap for less than a song," said Jean.
The man appeared gratified.
“Ah, you know something of history.” Jean told him of her
studies. "Hm!” he muttered. “But that is Anglo-Saxon history.
The West Indies carried on the Renaissance; they formed a micro-
cosm of modern history after 1500. But their story has been for-
gotten, distorted, twisted, and especially ridiculed-ridiculed and
sneered into a mass of lies.
“Abbé Reynal said that labor in the West Indies 'may be


Color in the West Indies
75
considered as the principal cause of the rapid motion which now
agitates the universe!'”
“But just how did this happen?" asked Jean.
"San Domingo was the finest colony in the world and its pos-
sibilities seemed limitless. After the independence of America in
1783, this French colony doubled its production in six years. In
these years, Bordeaux alone invested 100 millions of dollars in
San Domingo. The British bourgeois were the great rivals of the
French. All through the eighteenth century, they fought each other
in every part of the world.”
"But the British stopped the African slave trade and eventually
abolished slavery."
“The British colonies had enough slaves. San Domingo needed
more. With tears for the poor suffering blacks, the new British
bourgeois set up a great howl for the abolition of the slave trade,
feeling their way to a greater exploitation of India. They began
to abuse the West Indies as 'sterile rocks,' and asked if the interest
of the nation should be sacrificed to 72,000 masters and 400,000
slaves?"
“But there was surely much real philanthropy in England?"
“Of course; and also faith that England was God's favorite. As
one Englishman wrote: 'It seemed as if Providence, when it took
from us America, would not leave its favorite people without an
ample substitute.' Pitt saw a chance of capturing the continental
market from France by East India sugar. The production of cotton
in India doubled in a few years. Indian free labor cost a penny a
day!”
As they conversed, Jean and her friend both stared across the
great Northern plain toward the mountains where in dark and
sombre beauty loomed the mighty citadel of Christophe. Dr. Duval
was thin and yellow, shabbily but neatly dressed and a cultured
gentleman in manner and language. There was about him no faint
trace of servility, or thought that any woman of any color should
not be honored by his attention. He pointed to the vast plain:
"Yonder the black slaves came, swept on like a hurricane; but
what summoned them was the Wheel.”
"The Wheel?"
“The Wheel, where they crucified the handsome Ogé, the
mulatto educated in France where he fought boldly for the Free


76
WORLDS OF COLOR
Negroes of Haiti. He said no word for the black slaves. Indeed,
mulattoes, educated in Paris during the Seven Years' War, were
often slave-owners.”
"Why was Ogé attacked?"
“Ogé had sought status for Free Negroes alongside the whites
of San Domingo as citizens of France. The whites would have no
such alliance. They seized Ogé and Chavannes. They bound them
to a great wheel; they broke their bones with bars of iron, and
exposed them writhing and bloody to the burning midday sun
until they died in agony."
"I remember,” said Jean. “The whites and free mulattoes began
to fight."
"But on the 14th of August, 1791, down from the crags and
valleys of yonder sinister mountains and across that wide and
fertile plain which for one hundred and twenty-five years had been
making France rich and Europe envious-down poured four hun-
dred thousand black men, most of them slaves, some freemen
whose forebears had hidden in these mountains for more than a
century. Over the long, green snake and the reeking entrails of
a wild boar they had sworn allegiance to Boukman, crying in
Creole to 'The God who created the Sun which gives us light;
who arouses the waves and rules the Storm; who sees what the
White Man does: watch over us and lead us!'
"In a few days one-half of the famous North Plain was a
flaming ruin. From Le Cap the whole horizon was a wall of fire.
From this wall continually rose thick black volumes of smoke,
through which came tongues of flame leaping to the very sky. For
nearly three weeks the people of Le Cap could barely distinguish
night from day, while a rain of burning cane straw, driven before
the wind like flakes of snow, flew over the city and the shipping
in the harbor, threatening both with destruction ...
“They, whose women had undergone countless violations, vio-
lated all the white women who fell into their hands, often on the
bodies of their still bleeding husbands, fathers, and brothers.
*Vengeance! Vengeance!' was their war-cry, and they carried a white
child on a pike as a standard!”
Jean looked at her companion and murmured:
"So the Reign of Terror came from France to Haiti.”
“Oh, no, no! The reign of Terror started in Haiti; it did not


Color in the West Indies
77
reach France until three years later, when white French workers
three years later, when White French workers
recognized their unity with black slaves and fought with and for
them. Indeed, the French Revolution itself started in the West
Indies, in the twenty-five uprisings of black workers which from
1523 to 1780 swept the West Indies and erupted in Paris in 1789."
Jean stared at her companion. What looked like disbelief in
her eyes, was really resentment that in her study of history, in
her attempt to know what the world had done, this central bit
of history had been almost entirely concealed and distorted.
"You do not believe me!” he said.
"Oh, yes, yes!” she protested, “only the interpretation is so
unusual-so new—'
He smiled and started to his feet:
“I will give you names of books; as you travel home, read them.
But twilight falls. Before dark we have time to visit the battlefield
which you wished to see.”
Jean insisted on hiring a ramshackle cab and they rode west.
As they rode Jean asked:
“After the uprising of the slaves, what happened?"
“Both Spain and Britain tried to seize San Domingo, while
France strove to keep it. But its value was its slaves, and this threw
contradiction into the lap of the Revolution. Toussaint appeared
as leader of the slaves and Spain secured his services since he
distrusted the French. The San Domingo planters invited in the
English, and William Pitt seized most of Haiti and several other
islands. Britain was on the edge of owning the rich West Indies.
This would mean the re-establishment of slavery in the West
Indies and a rich Britain could then overthrow the Revolution
in France.
“But in France, Revolution reached its climax. The working
masses of the French people took power in their own hands and
the Reign of Terror ensued. The owners of wealth and employers
of labor bowed to the workers. They declared hate for the
'aristocracy of the skin' and refused to drink coffee because it
was stained with the blood of slaves. Then from the West Indies
came a dramatic climax. In January, 1794, three deputies arrived
from San Domingo-a white man, a mulatto, and a black man.
When this black man, Bellay, finished his speech, the Convention
declared the abolition of slavery in the French colonies!


78
WORLDS OF COLOR
La Negro sla historian
history of
the West
They
"Immediately, Toussaint left the service of Spain and took
charge of the French forces in San Domingo, proclaiming the
freedom of the slaves. This black West Indian drove the British
army out of San Domingo.”
“But could Negro slaves oppose the British army?”
“They did. Fortesque, historian of the army, said the year 1795
was 'the most disgraceful year in the history of the British army.'
The English in three years lost 80,000 soldiers in the West Indies,
a loss greater than Wellington's in the Peninsular campaign. They
spent $25,000,000 and General White advised withdrawal. General
Maitland entered into negotiations with Toussaint.
“A convention was signed in which the English evacuated the
island. General Maitland arranged a brilliant parade and royal
banquet, after which he presented Toussaint, in the name of the
King of England, a bronze cannon from the mansion of the
Governor and superb vessels of silver and gold.”
"What now was the real significance of Thermidor for black
slaves?” asked Jean.
“The counter-revolution of Thermidor meant not only the
triumph of the bourgeoisie over the workers, but the attempt to
restore 'order' in San Domingo. French owners and investors wept.
'There is no longer any ship-building in our ports. The manufac-
tories are deserted and even the shops are closed. Thus, thanks to
your sublime decree, every day is a holiday for the workers. We
can count more than three hundred thousand in our different
towns who have no other occupation than, arms folded, to talk
about the news of the day, of the Rights of Man, and of the Con-
stitution.'
"Babeuf, a menial servant, preached communism, freedom for
the blacks, and the unity of white and black workers. He organized
the 'Society of Equals' but was executed in 1797. The owners and
merchants raged. France tried to support the mulatto Rigaud
against Toussaint, since Rigaud fought for slavery of the blacks.
Toussaint triumphed again and the French bourgeoisie did not
dare to try to re-establish slavery, but they began to fear that Tous-
saint might set up an independent island. The English encouraged
this idea. But Toussaint believed in France and showed his faith
in France by sending his sons there for education."
“And his reward?"


Color in the West Indies
79
"His reward was eventual betrayal and cruel death in France
at the hands of Napoleon.”
They stepped out of the cab and looked about the bare field.
Jean went back in thought to the fall of the Directory in
France and the establishment of the Consulate of Napoleon
Bonaparte.
Duval continued: “It was clear that Napoleon hated and
feared Negroes, and this despite the fact that his first step upward
in Paris, came from his marriage to a West Indian octoroon.
Josephine de Beauharnais had married into the French nobility.
When her husband was guillotined, she found protection at the
hands of friends of Napoleon and became the most glamorous
figure in Paris society.
“Napoleon married her just before he started on his Italian
campaign. He coveted for France its richest colonial possession,
and was frightened at seeing it fall into the hands of the British.
But before he could turn his attention to the West Indies, Tous-
saint had arisen and made himself practically independent of
France. He had seized the whole island from Spain and in 1801
actually had the impudence to proclaim a constitution. He pro-
tested, and quite sincerely, his loyalty to France. But Napoleon,
furious, determined to kill him. He planned a formidable fleet of
86 ships built in France, Spain, and Holland. It carried 22,000
soldiers trained under Napoleon himself and commanded by his
brother-in-law, Leclerc.
“The fleet anchored at Cap Haitien in February, 1802. The
city was under the command of Christophe. Leclerc ordered sur-
render in twenty-four hours. The reply was a volley of artillery
fire and then Christophe burned the city, including his own home,
to the ground. There followed two years of fearful war. The troops
and the fever decimated the French.
“Leclerc soon was frightened. He wrote: ‘My position becomes
worse every day. Sickness carries off the men. Toussaint is not to be
trusted, as I had indeed expected, but I have drawn from his
submission the object I had expected.'
"Leclerc then resorted to disgraceful deceit. He lured Tous-
saint aboard his flagship on pretense of further negotiation. There
the great black leader was seized and taken to France.
"Toussaint was murdered by cold and neglect in the snows


80
WORLDS OF COLOR
of the Alps. This Napoleon thought would be the end, but it
was not. First, Leclerc was in dread about slavery. He wrote Na-
poleon. Read here in this book: ‘Do not think of establishing
slavery here for some time. All the blacks are persuaded, by letters
which have come from France, by the law which re-establishes the
slave trade, by the decree of General Richepanse which re-estab-
lished slavery in Guadeloupe, that the intention is to make them
slaves again.'
"Then he screams: “I have just discovered a great plot which
aimed at raising the whole colony in revolt by the end of Ther-
midor. It was only partially executed for lack of a leader. It is
not enough to have taken away Toussaint, there are 2,000 chiefs
to be taken away. ...
“Although I have painted such a horrible situation I ought
to say that I am not without courage. . . . For four months now
I exist merely by adroitness, without having any real force; judge
if I can fulfill the intentions of the Government.'
"On November 2, the sick and distracted Leclerc died. Of the
34,000 French soldiers he had brought, 24,000 had died, 8,000
were in the hospital, and only 2,000 exhausted men remained.
Rochambeau succeeded Leclerc.
“Rochambeau was a ruthless beast. He received 20,000 new
French troops after the death of Leclerc. He drowned so many
people in the Bay of Cap Haitien that fish were no longer eaten.
He hunted down the blacks with dogs. He burned Negroes alive,
hanged and tortured them, and buried them to the neck in nests
of insects.
“But Dessalines returned blow for blow. He hanged 500 white
troops before Rochambeau's eyes. He burned the North Plain
until it was a charred desert. On this spot here, Dessalines tore
the white stripe from the red, white, and blue of the tricolor, and
made the remaining red and blue, Blood and Sky, the flag of
free Haiti. On November 16, 1803, the blacks and mulattoes
gathered for a last attack upon Cap Haitien. A white slave-owner
wrote a half-century later: 'But what black men these are! How
they fight and how they die! I have seen a solid column, torn by
grape-shot from four pieces of cannon, advance without making
a retrograde step. The more fell, the greater seemed to be the
courage of the rest. ...


Color in the West Indies
81
“Those songs shouted into the sky in unison by 2,000 voices,
to which the cannon formed the bass, produced a thrilling effect.
The French too marched singing to their death, lighted by a
magnificent sun. Even today after more than 40 years, this majestic
and glorious spectacle still lives as vividly in my imagination as
in the moments when I saw it.'
"On November 28, Rochambeau surrendered and took refuge
with the British. He left the corpses of 60,000 French soldiers
and sailors behind. On December 31, Dessalines read the Haitian
Declaration of Independence.”
It was dark as Jean turned to leave this bare old battlefield.
As they rode back, her guide continued:
"Christophe, who followed Dessalines, could not hold the
blacks and mulattoes in one government. It was no longer slavery
that kept them apart, but a different conception of the state. The
North under Christophe harked back to African communism, with
dictatorship and discipline to ward off the white world of colonial
imperialism. Hence the citadel of defense yonder at La Ferrière,
one of the wonders of the world.
“But Pétion and his mulattoes in the south had their faces set
toward the new democracy of the nineteenth century, as led by
France and America. Pétion helped forward the independence of
South America and sought in vain the good will of the United
States. But white labor democracy in France and England, built
on the exploitation of colored labor, repudiated all union with
black Haiti, save as a quasi-colonial area.”
The next day after thanking her guide and mentor cordially,
Jean left the Cape for Port-au-Prince. She perused in the books
loaned her the extraordinary story of Haiti. From the day when
the English overcome the French in Asia and conquered India;
when the French, rich from slavery in the West Indies, found their
nation overthrown at home and threatened by a demand for the
equality of workers, black and white; when the English tried to
seize the West Indies; when Napoleon tried to enter Asia by way
of Egypt and Toussaint L'Ouverture overthrew French, English,
and Spanish; when the French workers tried to unite black and
white in one struggle and the British subordinated the black worker
under the white and bribed the white with higher wages, the


WORLDS OF COLOR
color line stood until Russia abolished it and saved the world
from a war of colors.
It seemed curiously clear now to Jean what had happened
since. Great Britain had transferred her investments in the West
Indies, and in the name of emancipation exchanged the West
Indian plantations for new investment and expanded capitalism in
African and Asian colonies. Thence came the industrial revolution
and the new imperialism, born of the blood of Negro slaves.


CHAPTER VI
THE CONFERENCE
Jean re-embarked at Port-au-Prince and sailed to Puerto Rico
whence she planned to return home by way of the Bahamas. But
at San Juan she left the ship again and went to the Virgin Islands.
She wanted to be alone to read and think about the West Indies,
and plan a message which she could bring back to Manuel Mansart.
On returning, Jean accomplished one goal she had long had
in mind. She became dean of the college. She had long been this
in fact and was acting dean when Mansart was abroad. On his
return, the office of full dean should have been established, but in
that case a man would naturally have been appointed. Since no
man on the faculty seemed fitted for the job, the matter was
dropped. Then Mansart got back in harness, and the need of a
dean with authority became clear, especially as Mansart's mind and
activities became increasingly engrossed in large matters outside the
college. Quietly therefore Mansart and Coypel, head of the white
University system and Mansart's superior, with the careless con-
sent of Baldwin, voice of Big Business, succeeded in making Jean
du Bignon titular dean of the college.
Outside her routine duties Jean now gave most of her time
to the new organization for southwide study of race relations. She
planned to have the first conference at the state college in 1938,
including not only the teachers of sociology in the Land-Grant
colleges and the private colored institutions of the South, but a
few leading social thinkers of the nation. She wanted in that way
first to settle questions of method and aim in sociology for the
guidance of the colored colleges; and also to get various institutions
more and more interested and involved in this movement.
First, she corresponded with the presidents of the colored Land-
Grant colleges, urging them themselves to attend, and especially to
send their professors of sociology or teachers of analogous sub-
jects. Nearly all the colleges promised co-operation. Then Jean
began writing to southern white institutions to invite their sociol-
83


84
WORLDS OF COLOR
ogists to meet with the conference as observers and advisers. A few
responded. Finally, she sought to insure the attendance of certain
leading Northern teachers and writers on social subjects. She in-
duced Mansart to promise them expenses with board either in
the college or at the white hotels in the city. Several consented.
Jean tried to keep central in her mind the object of this purely
scientific program as the best way to ward off criticism and make
sure of the co-operation of all the colored people and especially
of the white trustees. On the other hand, no scientific work can
function in a vacuum and Jean knew that inevitably the conferees
would be considering in their own minds how and why the infor-
mation gathered would eventually be used. In her own thinking
she had assumed that the “socialism" of the Roosevelt era would
be regarded as normal for the future by those who attended the
conference. But in that case the more ticklish question of Negro
political power must be in the minds of all, if not actually men-
tioned; for socialism could only be established by votes. Moreover,
all the conferees must know that organized industry was increas-
ingly going to center its efforts in the South because of its resources,
its climate, its cheap labor and lack of labor organization. She con-
ceived therefore that the trade union movement, particularly in
the South, would be an object for her to investigate and, so far as
possible, influence.
There was also the accompanying question of how far the
American Negro, especially in the South, should try to develop as
a self-supporting unit inside the white group. Already this path
was recognized in music and art; it was venturing into drama,
and it was manifest also in a distinct body of literature. But Jean
saw that the economic aspect was as yet but partially conceived.
There was, of course, the “Group Economy' discussed in the Atlanta
University studies; and there was “Consumers' Co-operation” which
the Crisis, organ of the NAACP, was pushing. But heavy indus-
try and the trade unions, and the part and place of the Negro
in this crucial development was not yet envisaged. Should sep-
arate trade unions be organized for Negroes, and a nation-wide
Negro trade union movement be organized? Jean pondered long
on these matters. What would be the relation of Negro business
to the national business development? But all these considera-
tions Jean put sternly aside from her main object in this organ-


The Conference
ization, which was truth about race relations in the United States,
gathered scientifically and presented to the world without bias.
But, Jean continued to reflect, here was Mansart's ideal of
beauty, and here was the poverty that could not appreciate it.
What was to be done about this? She kept thinking this over.
Her idea, firmly fixed at first, was to achieve a scientific knowl-
edge of the truth, even in sociology, a discovery of its rhythms, a
realization of the possibility of prophecy. To this she still held.
Manuel Mansart, while obsessed by his realization of the beauty
and order of the world, was interested in the economic develop-
ment of the Negro. He agreed with Jean's plans to study the
Negro on a wide scientific scale. He wanted to plot the Negro's
industrial future in this world which industry ruled. But he saw
no clear path at present. Meantime, he wanted his college, his
teachers and students, to realize what the world meant now as a
place to live in.
First of all, he himself began to have a conception of the
world as one unified dwelling place. He was escaping from his
racial provincialism. He began to think of himself as part of
humanity and not simply as an American Negro over against a
white world. As he looked about, it seemed to him that one place
to start was by beginning to make the State College at Macon
a more beautiful and satisfying place than it had been, a better
expression of the breadth and beauty of life. Interfering with
this and disturbing his thought was the unrest in Europe, the
premonition of possible war. Yet, he insisted on thinking of the
broader aims of civilization, of the integration of mankind into
the world; of the appeal to duty and order through peace. He
did not believe, he could not believe, that there was going to
be another world war.
He said to himself and repeated to Jean: “Surely it is quite
impossible that civilization should try war again?”
Jean looked at him contemplatively and said: “I'm not so sure,
President Mansart. I'm not at all sure. You see, the difficulty is
that the problem which drove us into the First World War is
unsettled, and that is the domination of the backward parts of
the earth for the benefit of Europe and North America; and the
use of the profit from colonialism to settle the problem of the
worker in imperial nations. All that we settled or seemed to settle


86
WORLDS OF COLOR
in the First World War was that Germany was not going to be
admitted as an equal partner in colonial imperialism with France
and England. And now, you see, that is rebounding. Germany and
Italy are insisting not simply on world partnership, but it would
seem that they want world dictatorship.”
Manuel mused a considerable time. Then he said, “I think I
have learned something new concerning nations, colonies and social
classes on this trip. The classic division of classes within countries
in the past left a great mass of labor at the bottom, working in
ignorance and sickness chiefly for the benefit of a small hereditary
aristocracy. This is still a pattern in much of the Middle East
and in Central and South America.
“But in Western Europe and North America this pattern has
changed. There, a considerable but a much smaller mass of
ignorant and sick labor is at the bottom; and feeding on that,
as well as subsidized by a powerful ruling oligarchy, is a large
middle group of skilled and white-collar workers who think they
have more to lose in any revolution than chains; they can lose
homes and musical instruments, automobiles, electrical gadgets,
servants, and the opportunity to live as superiors over lower
classes. Their temptation to curb or overthrow the ruling oligarchy
is modified first by the real chance that some of their own group
may be able to join the rich, or negated by their share in the
profit of exploiting not only the lowest classes in their own
country but the majority of the working people of the world in Asia,
Africa and South America."
Jean assented and added: “This turns most of the well-paid
laborers of Britain, France and the United States into supporters
of the ruling rich. In defense of their higher wage they join in
oppression of the poor, and all the more cruelly because they so
vividly know and fear poverty. Then, too, they consent to serve
as well-paid soldiers to keep the poor peoples of the world in
servitude to the rich. Thus, by higher wages and political power,
they share in the loot of Asia, Africa, Central and South America,
the Caribbean and South Sea areas.
“Especially in the United States, the middle-class well-paid
worker has long been inured to oppression by living beside despised
and exploited groups like Negroes, Indians and foreign immigrants.
The law permitted this oppression and custoin set few limits.


The Conference
87
Democracy was denied most such groups, and if war comes again,
here lurks the cause."
Manuel went on with his thoughts and plans. First, he began
to beautify the college grounds with trees, flowers and shrubs.
He repaired and built fences and painted woodwork. Pictures
seemed to have never been thought of in his college and indeed
not often in the South. He found he could easily get. large repro-
ductions of the world's best pictures, and his students in their
carpentry classes could frame them. So there began to appear in
the halls and in the dormitories representations of European art:
the older and greater painters, Michelangelo, Titian and Rubens,
the dark visages of Goya, and some representation of the newer
trends-Matisse and Gauguin and even Picasso. Especially, he
wanted colored faces portrayed in a region where all skins were
rendered white or caricatured. Works of colored artists like Tanner
and Meta Warrick were sought.
To this, Manuel managed to add some large pieces of statuary.
The trustees were not altogether in agreement here. They did not
like naked white Greek figures. They thought it would have a
bad effect on the morals of Negroes. But the Venus of Milo de-
manded entrance, and the Victory of Samothrace, and some Roman
athletes. There were busts of Douglass and Booker Washington.
It then occurred to Manuel that he must do something more
about the library. He really needed a new library building. And
by arrangement with the New Deal Administration a rather fine
building was erected in 1938, with both books and room to read
and lounge. He secured a trained colored librarian with imagina-
tion, and began to buy books systematically. Back of the library
a large room was set aside as a little theater, which thus brought
a new and interesting member to the staff and resulted in enter-
tainment for the students and some original writing.
In consultation with his daughter Sojourner, Mansart enlarged
his whole music program. He forecast a school of music which
not only would emphasize American Negro music but the music
of Africa, the West Indies and South America, then go on to
cover the great music of the modern world with Bach, Beethoven
and Wagner. Some of the trustees thought this program over-
ambitious; and the teachers had difficulty in gathering talent
for orchestration, voices for singing and audiences to listen. But


88
WORLDS OF COLOR
the work grew slowly. Colored singers like Hayes and pianists
like Maud Cuney appeared in concert.
Jean's plan was to induce each Negro college to undertake
continuous social study of the Negro population of its own state.
This would be financed by the local institution itself and would
be on as wide and intensive a scale as it could afford. It would
take advantage of local and current studies of every kind, made
by the state, organizations or private individuals; it would use the
data of the United States Census, classifying matter which the
census would not care or could not afford to use. Jean hoped that
gradually these studies would become broader and more systematic
and, following the criticisms of the sociologists gathered at the
conferences, would also become more scientific and reliable. In
time, Jean dreamed, there would emerge the largest and most
complete, continuous study of the actions of a definite human
group which the world anywhere was attempting, and out of
this might come measurements for a science of sociology such as
never yet had existed.
Naturally, the actual conference was disappointing. Only a
few of the colored presidents attended. Most of the institutions,
however, sent teachers of social science; but they were not a very
promising group. The first step toward a realization of her project,
Jean saw, would be to have better teachers hired and give them
more time and money for this work. Four white Northern sociol-
ogists came and were very encouraging about the general program.
They did not expect a Science of Sociology to emerge as Jean did,
but they were sure that with care and some money, a most inter-
esting body of knowledge might gradually be accumulated. The
two white Southerners who came also expressed interest, along
with some surprise. They wondered if Negroes could carry out
such a plan. If they could, it would be an excellent effort.
There were only a few set speeches; most of the work was
discussion, and that often was stimulating. There were few studies
already in the making, and therefore few reports; but many plans
were announced. Among the set speeches was one by a chance
visitor.
Aba Aziz, who called himself in America, Alexander Abraham,
was visiting the college. As was the custom, strangers of distinction,
especially if colored, were welcomed at the college and enter-


The Conference
89
tained. This one seemed a man of education, and was asked by
the President to stop over and to address the conference.
He was tall, thin, black of skin, with close-curled hair. His
English was beautiful, as was indeed his French, German, Italian,
Russian and Arabic; which last two languages he never used or
admitted knowing when in the United States. His address was clear
and short, but puzzling. He said:
“We admit that clear knowledge of Things is the best way
to understanding. Yet an embarrassing question may here be
asked: What do we really know of the Things we think about
if indeed there are any real Things beyond our thought of them?
Common sense comes to support Science and says, let us act as
though this outer world really exists and proceed to know and
measure it. On this hypothesis we build up a world of mass and
energy which moves in Time and Space and shows astonishing
regularities. Indeed, last century we had reached the place where
we believed we were on the track of the Universal Laws of action
among Things and closing in on analogous laws governing all
life, vegetable, animal and human. Then in our day came a
halting
“This moving mass, at one end infinitely small and at the
other a vast reach of stars, with earth between, when interrogated
not only refused to exhibit the same regularities, but differed
widely and disturbingly. They contradicted each other so that at
least among the atoms we could speak only of Probability and
even of sheer Chance which the pre-scientific students had rather
infelicitously called Free Will. Time and Space seemed to be but
aspects of one Thing and the universe could only be explained
scientifically if we mathematically assumed that we had measured
what was at present Unmeasurable unless and until we know what
is now apparently Unknowable.
“All this the oldest, exact scientist resented, the Priest ridi.
culed, but the mathematician proved true by splitting and fusing
atoms; while bending rays of light and blending motion and mass.
All of which challenges the present day student. In this complex
the present conference, as I understand, takes its place. It will,
so far as it can, measure human conduct in a distinct and con-
trolled area and there either discover Law or delimit the boun-
daries of Chance."


go
WORLDS OF COLOR
Mr. Abraham sat down amid a polite but faint applause.
Few in the audience had any idea of what he was trying to say.
Some of the white trustees consulted later.
“What the Hell was he talking about?"
"Sounded like nonsense to me."
"Who is he?"
"What does he really know about atoms? If so, how and why?"
“Let's get in touch with the FBI; he may bear investigation."
The FBI gathered in the next year an astonishing amount of
knowledge about Aziz. The man was born in Yemen.
Where is Yemen? East of Egypt! But in what nation? Saudi
Arabia.
Was he a Jew? Not of the orthodox types usually so known.
But connected with the ancient rites-a Black Jew.
Educated? Oh, variously: in Cairo at El Azhar; in India at
Calcutta; at Peking and the Univeristy of Tokyo; in Berlin,
the Sorbonne and the University of London; also at Yale. He had
taught short periods and on various subjects in Europe, Asia
and Africa; in Spanish America.
In the Soviet Union? Oh yes, lived and studied for a year at
Moscow. He had worked as an artisan in the United States-in
electricity in Poughkeepsie and in a chemical plant in Chicago.
This information was easily secured and Aziz spoke frankly
even about his change of name. But the conclusion was that he
was either a spy or saboteur. He admitted that he was a Communist.
"I greatly admire the Russians and their system of education,"
he said casually, as he was taken to prison. Then he dropped
from sight. A final report said that he had apparently been
accidentally killed by falling from the walls of Alcatraz.
The trustees of the Georgia State College were on the whole
gratified and pleasantly disappointed at the conference. The meet-
ing was not radical or inflammatory. It enhanced the reputation
of the State College. The chief result, beyond promise for the
future, was the stimulation among the local teachers and the
visitors of arguments and exchanges of views as to the future
development of the American Negroes, especially along industrial
lines. The place and future of the trade union movement came
in for consideration, and then the general industrial policy within
the race and over the nation. One of Mansart's most informing


The Conference
91
She expm. Jean 19 contere
talks came after the conference, in a conversation with the Dark
Dane, whom Jean had invited to the conference.
She explained to Mansart just what a Dark Dane was.
"The Danes, when they owned the Virgin Islands, used in
certain cases to decree that individual Negroes of distinction were
legally 'white,' with all the rights of Danes. Some descendants
of such families still live on the islands and usually occupy
high positions."
He was a black man, tall, with velvet skin and sharp features-
a typical Scandinavian in all save color. A century since, the
Danish government, ruling the Virgin Islands after Spain, France,
the Knights of Malta and Britain, had decreed that his Negro
ancestor was hereafter legally "white." His family henceforth was
one with the rulers of the island of St. Croix. He had a good
common school and high school education added to reading;
he was familiar with the literature of Scandinavia and Britain, and
knew something of the French. But he was insular. He had never
travelled much, and his experience among men was narrow. He
did not like white Americans and regarded their purchase of his
island as a calamity. He met Manuel with grave courtesy which
later ripened into friendship and considerable understanding.
"The West Indies," he said, "once were on the way to becoming
highways of modern Europe to China and India. Beautiful beyond
dream, with perfect climate, inountain, song and sea, they began
to reflect European civilization in microcosm. Here culture, re-
born in the Renaissance, lurched upward to new realization of a
new world; new vegetation, free gold and such meeting of souls
as once island Greece had known. Here Poverty, the scourge of
Man, was to be conquered and Eterual Life achieved. Over these
fortunate isles, out of Atlantis, the best of men started toward
fabulous Asia, mother of human culture.
“But into this paradise the Serpent of Greed entered, and in-
stead of an Eden for its own dark people and their European guests,
arose Hell for the Indian, in blind effort to build a white heaven.
But they made a mistake. They looked back; they turned back to
Africa, the first of continents, so as to enslave its flesh and blood.
They tried to forget Africa's past, malign its present and make its fu-
ture a tale for beasts. To do this they had to blaspheme religion and
lie to truth. The result was disaster: in slave revolt, human hate and


92
WORLDS OF COLOR
degradation. All this brought revolution to Haiti, North America
and France, and then came that revolution in industry which en-
gulfed the modern world.
“This vast and fatal change in ways of making wealth and giving
human service became more than successful in production but
tragic in the way its results were divided among men. Not new
culture in the dark West Indies, nor reborn civilization in China,
brown India or black Africa became heirs of the new earth, but
all these were forced to be sick, stupid, hungry victims of Great
White Europe who tried to inherit the Earth. The world advance
was twisted in Europe; Asia struggled and Africa shrieked until
World War brought promise of utter disappearance of civiliza-
tion."
Thus the Dark Dane spoke while Manuel listened in much
astonishment, some doubt and a little agreement. He ventured at
last to question:
“But what is happening in the West Indies, I cannot under-
stand. I hear of undreamed of beauty in all these scattered islands;
I hear of music and laughter and yet too, unease, sickness, unhap-
piness and the almost universal belief that real life and steady
progress lie quite beyond these happy isles. Above all, the people:
there is no people; or there are peoples of every sort, kind, and
hue, and yet the bond between is so fragile and thin. They dislike
each other so cordially!”
The Dark Dane counted on his fingers. "We are seven," he
said. “The whites and the native whites; the mulattoes and the
blacks; the Americans and Refugees; and the Tourists. Yes, God
forgive us, the Tourists, who never belonged here and yet whom
we invite and fawn on and let trample us to dust."
“But I thought,” said Manuel, astonished.
The Dark Dane interrupted. “You thought that the destiny
of the West Indies was to be the playground of rich Americans
where they could gamble, whore and get drunk at their sweet
will, unhampered by law or gospel or even by the dictates of decent
society; and above all where they could get rich on the ignorance,
servility and poverty of the ‘niggers.'”
"Well, no, not exactly that; but these hotels,”
“The chromium finish in Puerto Rico, in Cuba, San Domingo
and Haiti. The cars and beaches, the dining, dancing and yacht-


The Conference
93
ing, the shops and jewels-no, no! The West Indies should be
center of a new and better world culture arising from and around
and for their ten million colored folk and for such other human
beings who wish to share their destiny as equal citizens and human
companions. Impossible? Oh no! I've thought it all out. Listen.
“We would begin as a small compact group here in St. Croix;
ten families, a hundred, a thousand, with a little money, able to
read and write, trained to think. First on fair-sized plots of average
land we would raise what we needed to eat, importing nothing but
what we absolutely must; using brown sugar, unrefined by cheat-
ing Americans; eating our own abundant fruit and vegetables with
no canned slop; balancing our diet according to science but avoid-
ing fads. We would build our own outdoor homes; low, ventilated
and sun-bathed. We would dare shake our fists in the face of Paris
and New York fashion, and weave our own cloth from our own
fibres. When we could we would learn to make and use the new
synthetic fibres; but cotton, wool, flax and silk could cover us
until nylon monopoly was broken. We would till the ground by
inches, not by miles, and use hands and feet instead of tractors
until better machines for simpler land culture were invented by
our own brains or the brains of other human beings working
for human happiness and not merely for profit.
“And all our object would be leisure, not work; time for
thought, education, painting, poetry and sculpture; scientific ex-
ploration and invention. There would be no patents or copy-
rights but rewards, prizes and scholarships for individuals; drama
and theater, visitors-not stupid 'tourists'—but artists and singers,
poor in pocket, rich in talent and unwilling to barter their souls
to the metropolitan tyrants; writers out of whom greedy pub.
lishers could not make money and therefore try to starve."
"But wait,” interrupted Manuel. “You go fast and make fearful
progress in words. But there are obstacles. First, land. The land
of the West Indies either already is or is rapidly becoming mo-
nopolized. Where would your community live?".
“We would tax heavily all unused land and let each use tax
free what land he needs for crops or homes. Property would be a
social trust, revocable at will, with just compensation for any real
sacrifice; ownership of property always known and publicly regis-


94
WORLDS OF COLOR
tered, and all income of everybody known to all with source and
reason."
"But the power to do this?"
"We can vote."
“But my dear man, so can other millions; but they vote as the
rich and powerful order or—”.
“Are destroyed. But we would realize Democracy. We would
vote as we wanted and we would learn and teach what we ought
to want and how to get it.”
"But do you realize how little of such democratic government
there is in the world and how quickly and effectively that little
can be nullified or done away with? And how in God's name can
you get a voting body intelligent enough to know what is best for
them and how to vote it in?”
"My dear President Mansart, do you actually doubt the possi-
bility of human intelligence and the practicability of education?"
"Well, no, but universal popular education started a hundred
years ago and where are we?”
"Did it start with the Reform Bill, or did we merely start talk-
ing about it? I tell you, it's possible.”
"Moreover, your land program and rewards, and I suppose
with Social Medicine and Old Age Security, public ownership
of public utilities-all this sounds much like Communism.”
"Like Communism?".
"You know, the Russian way–Iron Curtain and all that."
“Is that Communism? Why I thought Communists were mur-
derers, conspirators and liars—at least so I have been told.”
“And naturally believed it, as you will in future believe what
you are told about other things. You see, dear friend, we are all
at the mercy of what we are told, and ever will be."
"And education is impossible because Truth is unattainable?"
"Well-"
"It is not well; it is ill.” The Dark Dane looked disgusted.
Mansart served tea.


CHAPTER VII
THE SOUTHERN WORKER
Jean was thoughtful after the conference. She was at once dis-
appointed and encouraged. Her main object seemed attained,
that of securing co-operation from the teachers in the various
colored colleges. But in conversing with the delegates and visitors
she found surprisingly little sense of the use to which the facts
of social investigation should be put. Some seemed to think that
the object of the studies was the skills and training secured by
the investigators. Of further use of this body of knowledge for
social reform, their ideas were curiously vague.
Jean was aware that this was to be expected from her plan,
and that this was her proclaimed object. But she realized that
despite her own purely scientific goal, she was really most inter-
ested in the uses of information rather than just in obtaining it;
that this was the only excuse for all this trouble in these critical
times.
The more she thought the matter over, the more she herself
wanted to become familiar with industry which dominated the
world. It must dominate the world, for men must work for food and
shelter before they could rightly think and feel. She was aware
of how theoretical her knowledge of factories and real production
was. The labor movement to her was mainly words and theory.
What was true in her own case was even more true of her fellow
teachers. They knew industry as brute toil, seldom as organized
and planned execution. They knew of servants, laborers, teachers
and professional men, but seldom of skilled factory hands, union
members and labor leaders.
She determined, therefore, to take her summer vacation of
three months away from the college to cross into the neighbor-
ing but far-off white world and learn what a textile factory really
was. There was risk in thus crossing the color line. Hitherto, her
chief difficulty had been to stay within her "race.” Now she would
95


96
WORLDS OF COLOR
use her opportunity and be for a time what she seemed to be-
"white."
She knew that hiding would be easiest nearby, and so she just
rode to Atlanta, and got acquainted with the members of the
Textile Union. The union was not large. It had no valid contracts
with the industry, and its membership was firm on the exclusion of
Negroes. She learned that in North Carolina Negro tobacco work-
ers and white union textile workers had found some common
ground, but had been suppressed by the militia. The new CIO
was working in the South, and large numbers of Negroes were
coming into the general union movement, but not into textiles.
Jean rented a room in the white working section and began
to talk to the women workers. She said that she wanted to become
an apprentice in spinning and weaving. They laughed at her.
"Why on earth do you want to work in a mill? You've got an
education,” they contended.
"Yes,” said Jean, "but I want to know how to do the work.
I want to become a worker, and see if we can't organize for better
wages and conditions.”
"Well, we can't. If we go into the union and try to force the
employers, first thing you know they'd have ‘niggers' here working
in our place.”
"In that case,” said Jean argumentatively, “I wonder if it
wouldn't be a good plan to anticipate the mand get some good
reliable Negro workers into the mills."
The woman she was talking to sniffed. “I'd die first,” she said.
Jean kept on. Over a period of three months she got the chance
to work as an apprentice. Then she joined the union and finally
spent a week working in one of the factories. She talked with
labor leaders and found them discouraged.
"With whites and Negroes competing we can't get anywhere
in the labor movement.”
“Then,” said Jean, “stop competing. Unite.”
“I know it,” he said. “That's what we ought to do, but that's
exactly what we can't. It's the one thing that's quite impossible.'
"I wonder if we couldn't try the impossible,” Jean said. And
she made arrangements the following summer to help in the state
office as a volunteer.
After the winter had passed Jean returned to Atlanta. One


The Southern Worker
97
morning Zoe Scroggs, who was now in charge of the state office,
arrived to find a visitor waiting.
Zoe was the daughter of Coypel, the superintendent of Atlanta
schools who had made Manuel Mansart head of the colored schools.
It was Zoe who was in the street encounter which resulted in the
beating of Mansart's son, Bruce. Eventually Zoe had married
Scroggs, the labor leader, who once ran for governor and now
headed the state labor movement. Zoe apologized for being late
and quickly got to her desk.
“So sorry to be late. What can I do for you, Miss—?".
Jean Du Bignon looked at Zoe thoughtfully. She had come
to talk with Joe Scroggs to learn more about the union move-
ment, and also if possible to sound him out about the future
of Negroes in the union movement. She had not known that Zoe
was active in this work, and that put a new idea into her head.
Why not try to enlist Zoe's sympathy? It would be a risk, and
she might spoil her own plans. But Zoe looked intelligent and
Jean knew something about her. She even sensed her contacts
with Bruce Mansart, Manuel's ill-fated son. This might be provi-
dential; also, it might be fatal. She smiled and said:
“Officially, I am Jean Smith, studying about trade unions and
seeking summer work. In fact,” she paused and looked Zoe in
the eye; "in fact, I am colored and teach in the colored State
College at Macon. My real interest is the future relation of Negroes
to organized labor. My real name is Jean du Bignon."
There was a pause and Jean waited. She saw surprise, resent-
ment, indecision and resolve chase themselves across Zoe's coun.
tenance. Then Zoe said slowly:
“I have heard of you from my father. I am glad to know you."
Then she made the last gesture of surrender from a Southern
white to a colored person: she held out her hand.
They talked for an hour on the union movement in general,
in the nation and in Georgia. Then Jean began to talk about
Negro workers. But Zoe stopped her. She hesitated and then
blurted out:
“Did you know Bruce Mansart?"
“Oh yes; quite well. He was in one of my classes. I was at the
college when the football game was played in Atlanta.”
Zoe went white and was silent. Then she whispered, "He is
dead?”


98
WORLDS OF COLOR
“Yes."
"How did-he die?"
Jean paused and lowered her eyes. "He was hanged."
Zoe gripped her hands together and shivered. But Jean con-
tinued: “It was for a murder committed in Missouri. The poor
boy had gone mad. Indeed, I am sure that he was never wholly
sane after that beating by the police in Atlanta."
"That is true; it must be true.”
“And now what I want is to be sure in the future that boys
like Bruce with a mechanical gift, and other Negro workers who
can help in the world's work, get a chance to work beside their
white fellows, so that together they can raise the working class
to such respect and income that they can occupy their rightful
leadership in the world.”
Zoe, with tears in her eyes, said, “What a loss, what a horrible
loss to the world, when a man like Bruce Mansart is driven from
work to crime by senseless prejudice. We'll be pals. We'll work
together. We won't tell Joe all of this yet. He wouldn't under-
stand. He's honest and he's striving toward right. But he needs
time and knowledge. I'll see you have a job here this summer.
You guide my studies and I'll guide Joe. We'll reach the right
if it takes a lifetime.”
Then Zoe added, “You know that Angelo Herndon has been
freed by the Supreme Court?”
“Yes,” said Jean, “that was a queer case; I never understood
it.”
“It was white and black labor trying to get together; but you
see, it was led by the Communists and my husband didn't dare
take part. A colored and white group met one night to talk over
a proposed strike and to unite blacks and whites in one union,
Somebody told the police and they raided the house. Angelo
Herndon was arrested and thrown into jail. That was in 1932.
He was a nice-looking colored boy of 19 from Cincinnati. He was
charged with having Communist literature and sentenced to 18
years imprisonment. He got out on $15,000 bail raised by public
subscription. The Supreme Court turned down his first appeal
in 1935, but young Ben Davis-do you know him?--fought the
case until in April this year the Supreme Court, 5 to 4, declared
the Georgia statute unconstitutional and Herndon is free."


The Southern Worker
99
"How splendid. And this Ben Davis, I must hunt him up.
I know of his father.”
“I believe he is in New York now and one of the officials of the
Communist Party; but listen, have you heard of Herndon's brother?”
“No; gracious! how ignorant I am, on matters where I'm
supposed to be expert!”
"This is about the Lincoln Battalion in Spain.”
“Oh, Communists again?”
“Not exactly. Spain massacred striking miners in 1934, but
the radical Left parties won the elections of 1936 and set up a
republic. Civil war ensued, Franco leading, with Hitler and Mus-
solini helping, while Britain and the United States gave no
assistance and allowed none. Then, in America arose that marvel-
ous Lincoln Battalion-a miscellaneous mass of youth-from work-
ers, writers and artists to bums and ne'er-do-wells—who threw
themselves into a crusade for Spanish freedom. Among the first
was Milton Herndon, brother of Angelo. Tall, handsome, quick
to learn, he was commander of a section in the machine-gun
company of the Mackenzie-Papineau Canadian Battalion when
he left his cover to go to the aid of a wounded soldier. He was
killed while dragging the helpless man to safety.
"Among the 3,000 volunteers who went to fight for freedom
were other Negroes-Sergeant Joe Taylor, who sang Negro spirituals
on the battlefield; Commissar Morris Wickman, of Philadelphia;
Bunny Rucker, of Cleveland, a light-skinned Negro whose quiet
efficiency won him the respect of the entire regiment; Roach, the
Negro machine gunner from Provincetown; McDaniells, whom
Spaniards called 'Fantastico.' I am told the Negroes loved Spain
more than they had ever loved America, for in Spain there was
no prejudice against their color. Of the battalion, 2,600 died
crying, 'If Spain is lost there will be a Second World War!'”
“I heard parts of this story,” Jean said, “but knew nothing
of the Negroes save what I read in Shirley Graham's beautiful
biography of Paul Robeson. He was in Spain when civil war
was brewing, and sang especially to the workers. But why, why
is so much of this unknown, hidden from the public?”.
Zoe looked thoughtful. "Well, you see, so many Communists
were involved. Even Russia sent aid to victims of Franco's bombs


100
WORLDS OF COLOR
and barbarism. We in America are afraid of Communism, just as
Hitler was in Germany."
"Then how on earth did you learn all this?"
"Well you see, I've been talking to young Ben Davis."
Jean returned to Macon just as Chamberlain returned to
England from Munich where he had signed a treaty and pro-
claimed: “Peace in our Time.” But in 1939 the world rushed to
war. Franco triumphed in Spain, Germany and Italy united,
Germany declared war on Poland, and Great Britain on Germany.
But it was the sudden expansion of Japan which astonished Jean.
Japan had already seized Korea and Manchuria.
Jean drew Mansart's attention to Japan. Manuel was, of course,
interested but not alarmed. He admitted that Japan wanted to
be one of the great nations of the world, and partners with
Europe and America in exploiting Asia.
“And,” said Jean, “I suspect that this exploitation will be
just as bad and just as thorough as that which Great Britain and
France have been carrying on."
“Oh, no,” said Manuel. “No, this is going to be a different
thing. This is going to be a colored folk taking charge of the
development of colored folk; and because they themselves know
what domination and exploitation is, they are going to do better.
I am sure of that. Perhaps this is the beginning of the rise of the
colored peoples of the world."
"Or,” said Jean, “it is the ending of the old capitalistic
exploitation with a few improvements. Moreover," added Jean,
"you must not lose your interest in Germany. You know what
Hitler was trying to do when you were there. Well, he is carrying
it out and pretty soon the rest of the white world is going to make
alliance with him. A Second World War is begun!”
"I doubt that very much,” said Manuel. “I think he's going
to find himself with strong opposition and that he will not dare
face it.”
“That,” said Jean, "is not at all evident in his treatment
of the Jews. The United States will soon be in this war and
on which side I am not sure.”
Mansart insisted that there was hope. In the case of American
Negroes, there was progress. “There are things that Negroes can
boast of. The NAACP still lives; there is one Negro in Congress


The Southern Worker
101
and one state senator; there are 14 members of state legislatures
and 12 members of city councils; there are artists like Hayes,
Robeson, Bledsoe and Marian Anderson; there are little theaters
among Negroes in four or five cities and one in Texas; there
are 19,000 Negroes in colleges and 2,000 graduates a year. In the
courts there have been some victories. Some Negroes' books have
been published. The wife of the colored congressman dared drink
tea at the White House; and there are triumphs here and there
in athletics.”
As Mansart voiced these considerations to his students and
at teachers' meetings, inevitably a subject forced itself into dis-
cussion which ordinarily was not discussed, and that was politics.
For forty years among the better class of Negroes in the South,
it was not regarded good form to discuss politics. They were
as a mass disfranchised, and while this situation could not and
should not persist, yet as the dead Booker Washington had
advised, discussion should not be insisted on at present.
But discussion could not be avoided. Jean said at Teachers'
Prayer Meeting: "How shall Negroes vote next Fall-those who
can vote? Remember that Negroes who do not vote are still the
basis of each state's representation in Congress and somebody
casts their ballot if they do not. It isn't a matter simply of doing
away with the Negro vote, the right still exists; but it is exercised
not by the Negro but by the white man, and not by the white
worker but by the white landholder and investor, by capitalists
and employers. With this increased voting power, the South can
send to Congress the most reactionary defenders of wealth and
monopoly, can hold the most powerful committee assignments,
and this hard, immovable core of opposition cannot be met by
reason or appeal.”
“I don't quite see that," complained a professor.
Jean got a copy of the Crisis for 1928 and explained. “In the
presidential election of 1920, a million voters on the Pacific coast
elected 12 congressmen. In the Middle West, a million voters
elected 13 congressmen. In New England, due to disfranchised
foreigners, a million voters elected 16 congressmen. But in the
South, the poor and ignorant South, with Negroes and poor whites
disfranchised, a million voters elected 45 congressmen. In five
states of the Southern South, out of more than five million


102
WORLDS OF COLOR
possible voters, four and a half million were disfranchised, leaving
600,000 actual voters.
“In 1932, because of the financial crash, Hoover was crushingly
defeated and Roosevelt elected. He was re-elected in 1936. Now,
in 1940, we American Negroes face the question of a Third Term.”
“And,” said Mansart, “in addition to that, the question of
Socialism and World War."
Jean hastened to insist: “Our greatest problem is that of
work and wage, and this not simply for ourselves and for our
kin and color overseas, but for the laboring world."
There was a murmur against this, which a woman instructor
voiced.
“But do we really have to plunge into the world labor problem
and the inextricable tangles of Asia and Africa? Our problem is
simpler. We want to be Americans. Other problems can wait."
"No. Becoming Americans does not mean automatic settle-
ment of our problems. It means sharing the problems of Ameri-
cans, and believe me, they've got plenty. These problems we must
understand beforehand, lest we land as a dead weight and compli-
cate the question we ought to be ready to help solve. We must
not be content to loaf in a provincial racial enclave. We must
emerge into the greater world even before we become Americans.
Perhaps we can then lead them out of the woods."
"Nonsense. We can't lead ourselves, much less the whites.”
"I'm not so sure. One of our Negroes once had a vision of a
‘Talented Tenth,' that is, of trained, devoted men who would
devote themselves to social uplift, not simply of themselves but
of the world.”
“A sort of set of dictators?".
"Yes, but not of a proletariat, because he did not know the
labor group in industry. If he had, he might have gone another
path. As it was, his Talented became too often selfish money
grabbers."
"Was that in Burghardt's mind when he held the Pan-African
congresses after the First World War?"
“No, not quite. I think he wanted Negroes to emerge into
understanding of a greater black world and its problems. His plan
even attracted Asia, India and Vietnam. China listened. But neither


The Southern Worker
103
he nor they dared hope to get any chance to be co-workers in the
white world. That world seemed then too self-centered."
“Isn't it still?" asked Mansart, smiling as he rose to leave.
Jean continued. "No, not quite. There is English labor, French
art, and Russia and its dream. England must soon set India free
and India will reach a hand toward us. This is a rapidly chang-
ing world.”
In her own mind and with her Fall classes, Jean from time
to time reviewed the history of the Negro in industry. Before
the First World War, integrated ownership and control had
largely displaced the skilled Negro worker in tobacco manufac-
turing, in iron and steel, in lumbering and mining, and in trans-
portation, and confined them more and more to common labor
and domestic service of the lowest paid and worst conditioned
varieties. From the new textile, chemical and other manufactures,
Negroes were nearly excluded. Just as slavery excluded the poor
white from profitable agriculture, so freedom excluded the poor
Negro from rising and expanding manufacture. On the other
hand, the worldwide fall of agricultural income carried the mass
of black farmers down to the level of landless tenants and peons.
The First World War and its wild aftermath seemed for a
moment to open a new door. Two million black workers rushed
North to work in iron and steel industries, to make automobiles,
to pack meat, build houses and do the heavy toil in factories.
They met the closed trade union which pressed them to the wall,
into the low wage gutter, denied them homes, and mobbed them.
And then the Depression met all.
In the Depression, Negro workers, like white workers, lost
their jobs, had mortgages foreclosed on their farms and homes,
and used up their small savings. But in the case of the Negro
worker, everything was worse in degree. The loss was greater and
more permanent; technological displacement began before the
Depression was accelerated. The unemployment and fall in wage
struck black men sooner, lasted longer, and went to lower levels.
In the rural South their education almost ceased, while Southern
city schools were crowded to suffocation.
Above all, in the Negro's case, local and federal relief helped
him last. It was easily explicable human nature that the unem-


104
WORLDS OF COLOR
ployed white man and the starving white child should be relieved
first by local white authorities who regarded them as fellowmen
and regarded the Negroes as sub-human. Then came Recovery
through the New Deal. The CIO was formed. The Negro entered
the ranks of union labor and, with the nation, braced himself
for a new future. This future, however, involved the Negro's
own inner development, which ſean must now study.


CHAPTER VIII
THE FREE NORTH
The owner of the New York Age, a Negro weekly, looked up
from his bookkeeping with a frown.
"Jack,” he said, “I'll have to put you on advertising, with a
percentage instead of a salary."
“You know I can't make a living on advertisements."
“Why not? You know what advertisers pay."
“Yes, they pay for buyers, and Negro weeklies don't bring
them customers. From Russworm's Freedom's Journal, away back
in 1827, past Fred Douglass' North Star, in 1847, down to the 24
Negro papers from then to the Civil War and the hundreds since,
they have all tried first to free and defend Negroes. This was
and is a fine object, and the one I'm interested in. But it does not
sell tobacco, liquor, food or clothes for white merchants. So they
won't advertise with us and pay our expenses or more, as they
do in white papers. You know that as well as I. Now, there is
one thing we can try as the success of the Crisis has pointed out.
And that is to increase circulation among Negro readers by
printing more news about Negroes and pictures of them.”
“That would cost money.”
"Borrow and try,"
“No, I'm in debt already deep enough. Jack, it's either ads or
you're through.”
“I'm through,” said Jack and went home.
Jack Carmichael had married a niece of Manuel Mansart's
wife and together, on Mansart's advice, they had tried farming
in south Georgia. Jack got into trouble with his landlord and
had run away north, and was for a time lost. Betty had gone to
New York, leaving her boy on the farm with his grandmother.
She had studied nursing and sent for her boy and her mother.
Then, almost by accident, Jack was reunited with his family and
had gone to work on a local Negro weekly. Dismissed, he was now
thoroughly despondent.
105


106
WORLDS OF COLOR
At home, Betty did not share in his despair.
"Jack, I've been thinking for some time that New York City
is not the place for us to remain; it is too crowded and too Southern
in sentiment. I've been looking toward New England, the birth-
place of American independence and of Negro abolition. This
morning, it happens, I see an opening. The city hospital in Spring-
field, Massachusetts, wants more nurses and they have made
me an offer.”
"Springfield?”
"Yes, its a city of about 150,000 persons in the west center
of the state; a thriving manufacturing town, with excellent schools.
It has a good government, two colleges and a United States
armory. You've surely heard of the Springfield Republican, one of
our most liberal papers."
"Sounds all right, but where do I come in?”
"Jack, let's go there and settle. If an honest, hard-working
colored man can't make a way in Massachusetts, then we'd better
quit.”
Jack wanted to vote for quitting, but he could not disappoint
Betty again.
Betty went first. The hospital authorities were a little taken
aback when they found that Betty was colored, but they saw by
examining the records that this fact had already been reported but
forgotten or ignored during the ensuing negotiations. Of course,
it should make no difference, but there were awkward questions
about dormitory space. This seemed answered when the hospital
authorities learned that Betty had a family and would live at home.
But that brought up the question as to where Betty could
rent a place. She must be near the hospital and no colored people
lived around there. The 3,000 or so colored folk lived almost
entirely in a southern section of the city, by themselves. It was
on the whole a nice neighborhood and well kept, and the Negroes
lived there, as whites asserted and really believed, in order to
enjoy each other's company. It was suggested that perhaps after
all a home in this neighborhood might not be too far away, but
Betty peremptorily refused to consider this solution.
"I have no objection in the world to living beside colored
people or Jews or Italians; but a home two miles from the hos-
pital is unthinkable.”


The Free North
107
Had it not been for an unexpected situation, this difficulty
might have resulted in stopping Betty's enterprise right there.
"It is ridiculous for this nurse to insist on living in a white
neighborhood," said the chairman of the Board. “Perhaps we'd
better let her go back to New York.”
That was impossible, for already Betty had taken over the care
of Cyrus Taylor. And Cyrus was a character. He was one of the
richest residents of the city, of an old and prominent fainily
which had been active in Shays' rebellion back in 1786. Cyrus
son was high in finance and industry, which promised more wealth
and prosperity for the city and state. Cyrus had long been a
chronic and crotchety invalid and had recently dismissed the
third nurse in succession, which the hospital, one of his philan-
thropies, had furnished him. Then Betty, the very day of her
arrival, had been sent as a temporary substitute and seemed to
be giving perfect satisfaction. Any thought of change just now
could not be considered for a moment. So a small five-room
cottage quite near the hospital and the Taylor home was secured
for temporary rental.
The family arrived-the old grandmother, Jackie, a lively boy
of eight, and Jack, the husband and father. There were soon
some quiet protests chiefly on account of the effect which a Negro
family might have on the value of surrounding property and
less openly because this would put a colored child into one of
the best public schools. Naturally, there were a few colored
children in the public schools, but most of them went to one
school which had a colored teacher among eight whites. It hap-
pened that no Negro child had ever attended the school nearest
Jackie's present home.
It was delicately hinted that perhaps Jackie would be a bit
lonesome among so many whites and that transportation,
The principal who ventured to make this suggestion to Betty
reported, “She was almost insulting, and seemned to resent the
plan. Mercy knows, I had only the best intentions, for I'm sure
that this little darky is going to have a hard time keeping up in
his work and enduring the treatment he'll get from the white
children. But it's all right with me.”
Jackie started in with three fights in his first term. In the first
he was soundly licked but claimed that it took four boys to do it.


108
WORLDS OF COLOR
He wanted no complaint made, so Betty said nothing. The
second fight, a month later, was a draw and Jackie sported a black
eye, as a sort of badge of courage. The teachers said nothing,
for Jackie was a bright boy, above the average in all his classes
and increasingly a favorite among the students--a favorite and a
source of some apprehension because of his private enterprise
in many directions and his efficiency in swearing and slang on
occasion. The third fight, in late Fall, resulted in the so thorough
beating of a very prominent young man that the principal thought
he had to take a hand.
On his invitation Betty called and was prepared for argument:
“Yes, Mr. Principal, I know all about it and am glad you
called me in. When three months ago a bunch of your hoodlums
jumped on one little colored boy and beat him almost senseless,
you had no complaint. I suppose you thought that would drive
him out of your select school. It didn't. He wasn't brought up that
way. The next time he had a better chance and came out very
well. You didn't complain that time and neither did I. Now,
however, one of your rich pets has had some teeth knocked out and
you threaten expulsion. Go ahead and try. Here is the card of my
lawyer whom Mr. Cyrus Taylor recommends. He thinks it might
be a good idea to find out just who owns the Springfield public
schools.”
The principal quickly assured Mrs. Carmichael that expulsion
was the last thing he had in mind, that he only mentioned it
as possible so as to ward off any court action on the part of the
incensed parents. All he was seeking was to restore peace and
good feeling, etc., etc., to the edification of a score of teachers
who just happened to be passing along the hall.
All this trouble over the house and Jackie was of little account
to Jack Carmichael who faced the problem of earning a living.
It was a curious situation. Springfield would have strenuously
denied any real color prejudice. It had for a time harbored and
helped John Brown. It would have admitted some animus against
the Irish Catholics, and the 35,000 foreign-born mill workers were
a problem in some respects, especially since the unions and strikes
had challenged the old alignments of property and wealth. The
small group of Negroes were mostly native born, with a common
school training and good American culture. A few Southern Ne-
possible soents. All her the edificats the hall.


The Free North
109
groes had come in, but they were absorbed in the older group
quite easily and with not too much complaint.
The work of this group seemed almost providentially laid out;
they furnished house service and common labor. This work was
well paid, but not extravagantly, and could not be raised since
there was no other demand for services by Negroes. Many of them
owned nice, well-kept homes. The others rented from white owners
property which could not be rented to others and might be even-
tually sold to Negroes at a good price. Socially, Negroes had their
own churches, and one of these, the Congregational, had organized
a social center of which the town was justly proud. On the other
hand, this Negro group of laborers had almost no connection
with the foreign-born, neither social nor economic. The foreign-
born-Italians, French-Canadians and a few Slavs-had come in
as labor for the mills, which made electrical machinery, motor-
cycles, firearms and the new plastics. The Irish, their predecessors
in the older woolen and paper mills, now considered themselves
Americans; they held the best hand-skilled trades and went into
business, the city services and white collar work.
The difficulty came as these elements began to change their
status because of education, income and property. This was most
noticeable among the Irish and least among Negroes. When Mike
Gibbons became partner in one of the old mills, when Tony
Marcelli married into a prominent American family, the hundred
thousand and more original Americans felt the economic and
social pressure of lower groups and more or less resented it. But
it never occurred to them that a colored man like Jack Carmichael
would not want to be a servant. He was a nice fellow, well-bred
and educated, but there was no job for him to do in the mills, no
clerkships in the stores, and in fact a month's search opened for
him not a single offer he could accept, except that of shipping
clerk in a wholesale firm. And even this job had strings to it. Its
former white holder resigned because a raise in wage and promo-
tion was long denied. Jack was let do the work temporarily, because
pressures of business had brought on an emergency. And the offer,
as Jack found out later, was accompanied by the wage of a porter,
not a clerk.
But it was a chance and Jack took it. He did a good job;
so good indeed that had he been white he would have quickly


110
WORLDS OF COLOR
been better paid and eventually promoted. As it was, his wages,
were raised, but he was not recognized as a clerk and his applica-
tion to join the clerks' union was turned down. Jack and Betty
talked it over. It started with the matter of continuing the rental
of their home. The owner said he wanted to sell and would no
longer rent. The price he asked was high. The bank to which
Jack applied refused a mortgage loan. Betty took up the matter
with her patient, Cyrus Taylor. The owner lowered its price, the
bank changed its mind, and Jack and Betty contracted to buy their
home. This brought up again the question of occupation for Jack.
They needed a better income if they were to live like their neigh-
bors. If they did not live up to the standard of the neighborhood,
the neighbors would rightly complain.
So Betty induced Cyrus Taylor to talk with Jack. Cyrus Taylor
had been brought face to face with the infirmities of age and the
changing economics of the twentieth century. He was upset in
body and mind. To some of his older beliefs he stuck all the
harder because of the revolution he could not stem in the main
currents of his life. He had been an abolitionist almost from
birth and never forgot the thrill of harboring fugitive slaves. He
never admitted to any trace of color prejudice. When, therefore,
Betty came and proved a good and understanding nurse, Taylor
nearly broke up the household of his son where he lived, because
his daughter-in-law wanted to treat Betty as a servant and serve
her meals in the kitchen.
This insistence of Taylor extricated Betty from an awkward
dilemma. The three servants were colored, a cook, a maid, and
a chauffeur and gardener. They were nice people, clean, well-bred
and efficient. But it was one of the basic principles of registered
nurses that they were to be treated as professional persons and not
as servants. The white nurses who preceded Betty had been so
treated and had their meals served in a private dining room. It
occurred to his daughter-in-law that the infliction of a colored nurse,
whom this impossible old man perversely proceeded to spoil, might
be in part balanced by her treatment as a servant. Then, to her
surprise, the colored cook complained to Cyrus himself of the
discrimination in treatment of the colored nurse and so before
Betty herself had decided just what to do she found herself served


The Free North
111
alone in state and the cook making apologies. The daughter-in-law
loved Betty even less than before.
Young Mrs. Taylor was a well-meaning woman. Indeed, in her
own eyes, she was deserving and unfairly treated. As a girl she
had never let a boy kiss her, had never listened to dirty stories
and had attended Sunday School and learned to read, write and
play the piano fairly well. She had helped in the housework at
home but at her mother's wish had left the hard and dirty work
to a servant. That kept her hands soft and her clothes clean.
She had not exactly been presented to society, as her people had
no such high social position; but after graduation from high
school, she began to attend parties of the right sort. Her parents
did not want her to take a job, preferring that she await suitable
marriage and work in her own home. Her union with the rich
young Taylor was a social triumph.
Personally she was frightened almost to death at the event,
never having had the slightest instruction or information as to
sex conduct or response. The result was disastrous. Neither hus-
band nor wife had anything but embarrassment and frustration
for months after marriage and finally retired to separate bed.
rooms. The husband kept a hotel suite in New York and used to
run down on business once a month. He was astonished and
pleased to find pretty women there who seemed actually to enjoy
his caresses. His wife naturally had no such recourse. The few
advances to her of men in her circle, she rebuffed with indignation
and shame, wondering how her conduct had invited such frightful
desires.
On the other hand, she did not know what to do with her
time. She did not read much and did not enjoy what she read.
The newspaper, except local gossip, was dull and hard to under-
stand. Particularly, she was ignorant of history and references to
the past of mankind brought no response. She had been brought
up not to drink alcoholic beverages, nor to gamble. She gave par-
ties, but they were insufferably dull, save as a few got into corners
and talked about each other. She and her husband took a trip to
Europe and she was surprised to find that the English used a
language she could hardly understand, while the French actually
understood no English at all. There was nothing to do but look at


112
WORLDS OF COLOR
monuments, churches and pictures. The scenery was all right but
she preferred New England.
Her greatest burden was her stepfather in whose home she and
her husband lived. He was a foul-mouthed old tyrant, who swore
and complained, and to whom nothing seemed sacred. She tired
herself nearly to death waiting on him and then when they
resorted to a trained nurse, she found that the nurse also had to be
waited on. It was disgusting. Her servants had always been people
from the colored settlement. They knew their places and she
liked them. She could be intimate and confidential with them
without having them take advantage of her. Sometimes she thought
they were her only real friends. She welcomed then the chance
to hire a colored registered nurse and prepared to turn her over
to the other servants, when she proved more intractable than her
predecessors.
Cyrus Taylor was breaking down physically, but his chief
ailment was spiritual. He found himself living in an age which
all his training rejected. He began to complain of this before Jack,
his caller, was seated or could introduce his errand.
"Sit down, sit down! I know all about your plans. You want
to go into business so as to be 'independent.' Well, my boy, you're
born fifty years too late. There is no such thing as independent
business any more. You know what I was once? An independent
shoemaker. I repaired shoes and made them for special feet. It
was a fine job and I loved it. I made enough to live on as well as
I wanted to live. The old lady had a good home, a big kitchen, a
back yard for the wash and a front yard with grass and flowers.
We had three nice children. Then the oldest boy set up a shoe
store in town. He sold a few of my shoes and more of the shoes
made by the United Shoe Machinery Company. Then they drove
shoe repairing and hand-made shoes out of business.
"Take my two sons. Neither of them ever did any real work,
any straining of muscle or continuous hard thinking; or listening
to wisdom or reading. Not them. The oldest never went to col-
lege. He got through high school after a fashion and went into
business. That is, he began to scout around to see how quickest
he could make the biggest income. He became clerk in a shoe
store, where his pleasant manners sold shoes and got him ac-
quainted with the Big Bosses. His shoe store became an outlet


The Free North
113
for my shoe repairs on the one hand and for United Shoe Ma-
chinery on the other. Then he sold out me and the shoe store.
With my savings and his charm and adaptability he got a block
of shares in the United Shoe Machinery Corporation cheap. The
stock was split and watered and before I knew it, I was rich with
nothing to do. It killed the old woman. She missed her kitchen
and her washing. She just died. I'm still hanging about making
trouble for everybody. Oh, the boy was no drone. He did not sit
about loafing and feeding his appetites; but to call what he did
'work' of any kind, or 'sacrifice,' is a lie. Jan Matseliger, the
Negro from the West Indies, furnished the brains for the ma-
chinery which the company bought and patented, and now owns.
Irish and French Canadians did the work, bright Irish and
American salesmen distributed the shoes on percentages and salary,
tasteful ladies set the styles, lawyers arranged ownership and tied
it up so that we are rich. That's progress, I suppose, but I wonder
if there wasn't something lost.
“Take that boy today. He's made money. He's making more;
that's all he can do. He can't read and don't. He doesn't know one
note of music from another. He can't tell a picture from a car-
toon. He drinks whiskey and runs after women, not because he
likes either, but to be a good fellow. He married and married pure
and respectable, but it was just an incident in his life and still is.
The other boy went to college, joined an exclusive fraternity, drinks,
whores and gambles. He is receiving money which he never made
and doing nothing else. To the real human service of letting men
and women use their feet and letting shoe makers earn a living,
neither of my boys are giving thought and never will.” He paused
and stared at Jack.
“Now, what is it you want?"
“I thought of starting a small neighborhood grocery store, to
deal in good food and staples and so make a reasonable living,
save a bit for the future and be my own boss."
“H'm, well, you might do something along that line down
in the colored community.”
“But Betty says no. She says it would not do to come into a
free Northern city and open a 'Jim-Crow' store; even the colored
people would object. I thought of taking a good corner near


114
WORLDS OF COLOR
the mill district and serving colored people, of course, but aiming
at the whole neighborhood.”
“Fine, but crazy! If your store was poor you'd scarcely make
a living. If it was good, the landlord would hike the rent and if
you climbed over that, the big grocery chains would buy you out."
"Suppose I refused to sell?”
"You'd sell all right before they got through. But don't take
my word. Try it. Go ahead! I'll see you get $5,000 credit with the
wholesalers. But I tell you, Carmichael, you don't realize what
a world you're facing.
"We used to go into business to serve our neighbors, by doing
and making useful things. All that is out.
“Our whole idea of work, buying and selling, is changed.
"We used to work to do something for ourselves and for others.
Now we work for wages. We used to make things for use; now
we make them for sale.
"Success is not what a man does, but what he gets. The larger
a man's income the greater his desert is regarded.
"If everyone works for his own advantage, we believe this will
result in the best results for all; or in other words, universal selfish-
ness brings universal happiness.
“It is bad business today to make goods that last; better make
goods that wear out quickly and must be renewed. We say flatly:
“Don't save, spend; a penny saved is a penny wasted; a penny
spent helps business and no matter whose business. Debt is wiser
than saving; that's what saving is for.
“Don't pay as you go; pay as you come!
"Don't repair; throw away and buy new.
“Don't patch, don't mend, don't darn.
“Live in debt, gamble on the future.
“Drive out the tinker, the shoe repairer, the seamstress.
"Down with the miser.
“Modern life is buying and selling.
“Mass production of identical things drives us, kicks us, holds
us in drab, tasteless sameness. We can't choose patterns of clothes,
styles of cars, shape of shoes, texture of cloth, or color of skin.
“ 'Free enterprise guided by mass production and monopoly
reduces our life to dead uniformity without individuality. In our
cities, homes and public buildings all gradually yield to offices,
and selling
us in de production of


The Free North
115
bought,ods, and then and sold,
where goods are bought and sold; or rather where the ownership
of these goods and the land occupied and the energies of laborers
are bought, sold, or destroyed.
"Remember how that great and historic church on Fifth Ave-
nue fell before a center for gambling in oil? Heard how a great
music hall is to be sold for room to exchange foodstuffs between
the West Indies and New England? A big railway station in New
York is going to be turned from mere travel to a market place
for buying and selling over the world.
“We used to cook in pints for individual taste; now we mix in
tons and season with straw.
"We spend our savings not in improving products but in lying
about them in great big picture magazines on a scale nobody dares
resist.
"Our news is about selling; our art is about buying; our science
is about getting wealth, and our religion about distributing it
where it will do us good.
“Inventions and patents are not to make life easy, but to put
wealth in a few hands.
“Politics is money and elections are bought and sold-
"But what's the use talking. You don't believe me; neither do
my sons, or that daughter in Chicago. Or if they admit my facts,
they say: so what? This is a new age, a new world. It is, but it's
a damn sight newer than they dream. So go ahead. Who knows?
You may start something!"
The grocery store which Jack opened was in many ways ideal.
It was on a quiet corner, with middle-class white-collar workers
near, mill hands two blocks west and colored folk three blocks
south. The center of the city was four or five blocks north. Betty
saw that the store was tasteful, with a touch of beauty. Jack made
customers welcome and satisfied. He bought carefully and suc-
cessfully at fair prices. He would not handle old or half-spoiled
stuff. After careful inquiry, he extended some of his customers
credit between paydays. Jackie, after school, helped deliver orders,
and thus built up an astonishing circle of acquaintances. The very
fact that Jack was colored and not Italian nor French Canadian,
led to personal confidences and revelations which these foreigners
would not have revealed to their own.
So, too, the colored group felt a sort of racial interest in a


116
WORLDS OF COLOR
store which did not try to confine itself to colored folk, but still
was run by a colored man. Then, too, here was a store which was
run by a worker rather than by an employer or an investor.
It became a center of gossip about employment and wages; about
organizing the unorganized worker. Jack had much information
about the West and South. Betty spent much of her free time in
the store and as a registered nurse was eagerly sought for advice
as to sickness among a group which could ill afford medical fees.
On the other hand, the white collar workers round about liked to
trade at a good store where they could feel socially superior to
the proprietor and to most of his customers. They became local
aristocrats instead of unimportant people.
In Jack's new enterprise there were a hundred tricks of the
trade to learn. He sought advice eagerly and for a time hired a
former grocer to help out. From him he learned much about the
storing of his stock and the selection of items. But the man wanted
really to run the store and not just advise, so finally he had to go.
There were difficult questions of buying. The wholesalers were
used to unloading old and even partially spoiled goods on the
small grocers in poor neighborhoods. They offered attractive bar-
gains, which Jack avoided. The canned goods which Jack must
watch often had labels newer than the contents. If, however, he
bought first class goods guaranteed, the price was high and sale
to poor people involved prices they could scarce afford. This
meant a narrow margin of profit or sometimes no profit at all.
It was a long, puzzling task, but Jack, with Betty and his son,
did very well, and the store prospered.
Religion had to come into the picture of Carmichael's life in
curious ways. There were in Springfield perhaps 50,000 church
attending Protestants, who formed the upper stratum of owners,
employers and officials. There were 25,000 nominal Catholics who
were in more or less close touch with their church. The colored
people were mostly Methodists and Baptists with a leading group
of Congregationalists. And since the church was the center of
colored social life it played a more active part than the white
churches.
Jack and Betty at first refrained from close association with the
colored churches. This was chiefly because they were both aston-
ished to find that in this birthplace of abolition, the color line


The Free North
117
was clearer in religion than in any other social activity. On the
street, in the parks, at the movies there was no visible color line;
in the schools and colleges and politics and elections there were
evidences of more or less color prejudice and in business and indus-
try distinct color discrimination. But in church the separation was
complete. Betty met it head on when she talked to the Reverend
Mr. Reeves about joining the First Congregational Church. She
especially wanted its advantages for Jackie. Young Mr. Reeves was
delighted and offered to write a letter to Dr. DeBerry, the Negro
pastor of the colored Congregational Church. Betty demurred.
She knew Dr. DeBerry. He was a fine man. But she was proposing
to join the First Congregational.
"But why?"
“It's nearest where I live, and besides, why do most of your
communicants join this church?”
"Well, they are folk with common social interests—".
"Is your church a purely social organization?”
Mr. Reeves was affronted.
“Mrs. Carmichael, with whom would you associate in my
church? What organizations would you work with?"
“Are you trying to say, Mr. Reeves, that your members will not
serve God beside Negroes?".
Mr. Reeves arose. “Mrs. Carmichael, if you wish to join my
church you may; but I warn you, you will not be happy. Most
people prefer to associate with their own; if you are ashamed to
do so, that is a matter between you and your God.”
"I'll take up the matter with Him," Betty said. She joined
the First Congregational and put Jackie in its Sunday School.
She was careful to pay her church dues and now and then attended
a sermon. On the few occasions when she was asked to serve on a
committee or act with a group, she was so efficient that it was almost
embarrassing. For instance, she worked with the public sanitation
committee; she was soon elected chairman and launched such am-
bitious plans for city-wide action that the efforts had to be stopped
or incur the enmity of the City Sanitation Board, whose chairman
was a prominent member of the First Congregational Church.
Jack attended church seldom; but Jackie from the first became
a regular and enthusiastic attendant of the Sunday School. He
loved the beautiful room in which it met, sang the lively gospel


118
WORLDS OF COLOR
hymns like a nightingale and joined in all activities; in most he
was leader and planner, was elected to all sorts of offices and
depended on by the teachers to put over their programs. Of course,
these programs had to be such as Jackie personally approved.
Otherwise, they simply did not work and the mass of other students
backed Jackie in judgment to a man. Still, everybody liked Jackie,
or at least all but a very few.
These incidents illustrated the status of religion in Springfield.
Everybody "believed” in religion; most were by profession “Chris-
tians," that is, they “believed" in God, the sacrifice of his son Jesus
for men's sin, and eventual reward of men in heaven or punish-
ment in hell. They "believed” in prayer. But none of this professed
belief had any real practical effect. Nobody or certainly very few
believed that a request to God would have any effect on what
would occur; few believed really in God as a powerful person
who was conducting the world benevolently according to some
great plan. Most people of Springfield regarded Jesus as a good
man long dead, who left a moral program which nobody, least
of all an American, could really live up to. And yet, this professed
belief and practical rejection of its implications had a subtle but
disastrous affect on honesty of character, telling the truth, and
ability to reason clearly. People got so used to saying one thing
and doing another, asserting honestly what they knew was untrue,
and calling logic what was patently illogical, that religion as a
real moral force was at a low ebb in the city. Moral standards
existed to be sure, but they were based on hereditary culture pat-
terns-the influence of persons recognized as respectable, and the
actual results of current conduct on everyday life. Children were
brought up in such an atmosphere of contradictions that they
ignored, indeed had to ignore, advice and example. How could a
man who was bad be called good? How could you love your
enemies and refuse to speak to them on the street? How could you
turn the other cheek and fight for your country, right or wrong?
How could you lie and tell the truth for the sake of the same
God? And who was this God, anyhow, and where was He and
what should we do about Him, while ignoring His existence most
of the time? It was such a situation that brought anger and frus-
tration when a concrete question demanded answer, as in the


The Free North
119
matter of letting a family with dark faces join a group of professed
followers of God, whose faces were whiter in color.
The church was a group of socially compatible friends who
built fine church edifices, had pleasant meetings and listened
to what they wanted to hear. The minister was a well-bred person,
college-trained, who used good English, and was a welcome caller
in homes. He preached sermons but seldom said anything one need
remember, or which displeased anyone. Most of the sermons were
“doctrinal”- that is, attempts to reconcile forgotten dogma with
present fact, which was easy for those already convinced. Festivals
like Christmas, gifts for missions to the heathen, and alms for the
surrounding poor helped keep the parish busy. Add marriages,
christenings and funerals, and the church had more than enough
to do.
The Catholic Church differed somewhat from the Protestant.
Its priesthood had nothing to do but promote religion among a
large and loosely integrated group, kept in line by means of old
folkways, emphasis on marriage and death, and insistence on the
letter of the creed, while loosening calls for action. Thus dancing,
drinking and gambling on a moderate scale were winked at, if not
encouraged, and occasional attendance at services, money contribu-
tions and lip service to dogma were sharply insisted on. Ceremony,
rich vestments and lovely music made brief church attendance
popular. Thus, the Catholic clergy had a wide influence on, and
a more intimate contact with, the mass of working people than
Protestants-the purely social aspect of the church was less promi-
nent. Problems of race and industry were settled often by the clergy
and not referred to the laity. There were few Jews or other
religious groups in Springfield so that their problems did not
intrude.
What with their new economic status, their relation to the
church, and Betty's successful nursing, the Carmichaels came to
be regarded with mixed feelings; they were considered social
climbers who wanted to “be white.” They were "ashamed” of their
own people. But a new and more weighty charge was that the
talks about labor, wages and unions which began to center around
the grocery were dangerous, since they involved so many diverse
elements and races-the foreign-born, the colored folk, the clerks.
Rights of labor, one big union, higher wages and shorter hours


The Free North
121
fine nurse. One thousand dollars? Yes, at least. But what was that
these days? Say $10,000. But what would she do with that much?
It was not enough to let her retire and why should she retire?
Well, he'd think about it. Whatever he gave Betty would of
course go to help Jack. Now Jack was a good man but impractical.
He would never make a business man. He thought too much of
his customers as people, not as buyers. You couldn't do business
today on that plan. Business was profit, not philanthropy. That
was wrong, but it was a fact and in a world of private profit where
would a merchant land who was thinking how his customers could
live on their wage? What would a thousand dollars, ten thousand
or a hundred thousand do in a competitive grocery business in
Springfield or in the United States, if it was run to help the com-
munity and not to make the owner rich? So Cyrus Taylor did
not make up his mind before the first stroke of apoplexy came.
Betty saw the look of unrest come and go on his face, but he died
peacefully before he acted. The will did not mention Betty. She
was naturally disappointed. For the old man had more than hinted
that he would “remember" her. The oldest son said:
“My father seemed by the various memoranda lying about to
have in mind some gift for you, but there was nothing definite.
However, I want to thank you for your devotion. Here is a little
something." He gave her $250 in addition to her wages due. Also,
when the two-year lease on the grocery building was up, he renewed
it for the same rent but sold the property to one of the main city
grocery chains. He could not be bothered with small investments
like that. Betty went back to the hospital staff where she had
plenty of work offered as visiting nurse and on various assignments.
But she worried about Jack. He was a good man, pleasant
and with no bad habits. She knew that he loved her and adored
Jackie. But he was restless. He was never satisfied. He always
wanted to do something else. He wanted to dream and set his dreams
on paper in word or line or color. It was this stretching out and
away that always lured him from the job in hand. He realized this
and fought against it. He worked hard and steadily and was so
afraid that a second time he might fail his wife and son. He was
desperately apprehensive of losing their respect. His wife sensed
this and watched him almost furtively.
Jackie was unconscious of all this and went blithely on toward


122
WORLDS OF COLOR
That very weeed and courteous malling. It is sta
life. He had no problem, or if he had, they were problems of life,
not of color nor status. His social contacts remained normal be-
cause at ten, sex had not begun to obtrude. He visited other chil-
dren's homes and they his. His grandmother gave her life to him,
to his delicious meals noted all over the neighborhood, to his
mending and cleanliness, to his cozy room. His first knowledge
of deep and unavoidable sorrow came when she died. Yet, he had
his mother, and while she could not give him as much time as
grandmother had, she knew a lot and told him much. His father,
however, was his great possession and his pride. With him he spent
all his spare time and came to feel himself a real companion and
co-worker and not just a child to be ordered about. When, on his
twelfth birthday, his father changed the sign to “Carmichael &
Son," all in shining gilt, Jackie's heart burst with a pleasure so
intense and deep that he could neither laugh nor cry, but only
stand in mute ecstacy of perfect happiness. He made up his mind
then and there to be a real partner and not just a helper.
That very week one of the chain store owners renewed over-
tures. A well-dressed and courteous man came and talked two hours.
“I know just how you feel about selling. It is standard behavior
in this era of business development. You have done a good job
here and developed a good business. Extraordinarily good. It's
just because of this that our chain must move in. The city as you
know is covered by three chains. This area is sort of on the border,
but we've had our eye on it for some time. You've developed it to
the point where we must have it. There's nothing personal or
racial about it. It's just a part of the business cycle. Mass manu-
facture, mass selling and mass buying are the inevitable steps. The
individual simply cannot compete. We can buy cheaper and sell
cheaper. We can't lose. You can't win.”
“Sounds like socialism.”
"Oh, no, quite the contrary, free enterprise; that is, free for
those who hold the power."
"You say, there's nothing personal about this, neither race nor
class?"
"Exactly. We are making you the same offer which we make
white proprietors--”
“Except in one consideration. Doesn't ihe selling proprietor usu-
ally get an offer of management at least of his own store?”


The Free North
123
The man paused and looked surprised. “Why-yes. Yes, of
course. But you see in that case, in most cases-well, Mr. Car-
michael, we might as well face it. Here we strike an aspect of Amer-
ican life which has nothing to do with grocery chains--"
“Except that in my case it has everything to do with my earning
a living."
“Surely, but that you have in any case. We do usually offer a
man whose store we're trying to buy, a job as manager of the merged
business. But as you know, in this case you would be entering a
job where the members form a closer social unit. Where if you
made good we might want to transfer you. You might find yourself
in charge of white workers--"
"And in such case?"
"It wouldn't do, Mr. Carmichael, you know it wouldn't. I'm
sorry, but--"
"I'm more sorry than you are. And I won't sell. I'll fight until
I lose all."
"You've made a bad decision. You'll lose all.”
Within a couple of months a store for groceries, food and no-
tions was opened on the corner opposite Carmichael. It was a
capacious and well-equipped establishment. It was fully stocked
and carried some widely advertised commodities which the man-
ufacturers would no longer allow Carmichael to handle. Only one
store to a neighborhood, the owners said. Also, manufacturers be-
came unusually strict on cut prices for their goods. He could not
say they were not just as strict on his competitor, neither could he
be sure they were. Almost, he was sure they were not. For a time,
the competition was steady, but Carmichael held his own. So long
as prices were the same, he held his customers and the neighbor-
hood applauded. Then, one afternoon Jackie ran in after school
and cried,
"Father, the chain is advertising three pounds of potatoes for
15 cents. How can they when the cost is 20 cents?”
That was the beginning. The chain began deliberately selling
below cost. Customers hesitated, but after all money is money.
Jack tried selling some articles below cost; he tried buying from
the chain and re-selling, but his co-conspirators were soon spotted
and rcfused sales. It was a bitter, long-drawn-out struggle. The chain
lost thousands of dollars, but they had the money to lose. Car-


124
WORLDS OF COLOR
michael lost hundreds of dollars and could not afford it. At last, the
wholesalers and the banks joined the fray and tipped the balance
for the chain; until one winter night the sign “Carmichael & Son”
came down and the store did not open next morning. That day
prices went up precipitously across the street.
DeBerry was angry and disappointed. He talked with several
of his rich white supporters.
"Mr. Bradley, you could help, if you would.”
"Yes, I could for a while; but I can't hold back American busi-
ness.”
"But Carmichael is a good merchant. And we Negroes have so
few chances to earn a living."
“I know, but why didn't he start business among Negroes, and
not compete with white merchants?".
"Are we or are we not Americans? If we are, should we try to
build a separate economy, with separate stores, separate transport?”
“But that's what you're doing in your church.”
"No, no, that's not what I meant. There are some small areas of
life-social intercourse, homes and neighborhood, where temporarily
we try to live and act apart because of race prejudice. But you
surely do not want us to develop as a separate Negro nation. That
is preposterous!"
Carmichael and Betty took a long ride into the country up
along the Connecticut River. He wanted to talk with an Italian
truck gardener who had often sold him some of his best produce.
He had a vague plan of a little farm where he could think and
write while raising his own fresh, good food.
It was sunset when he arrived. The house was dirty and crowded.
The family straggled in, dead tired, hungry and quarrelsome. The
father, sweaty and soiled, looked at Jack and Betty with red, weary
eyes.
“Welcome! Yes, yes, my friends, I know. You're both dreaming
of the little farm with quiet, ease and rest. You're hunting in the
wrong world, the wrong world. When my father brought me from
Italy his one dream was a farm of his own in free America. How
we worked and saved for this. We got it. It killed my father. It's
killing me. It won't kill my children for they have revolted and
left. Only the two youngest remain with their wives and babies.
Next year they move to the mills in Springfield. Why? Dear land,


The Free North
125
long transport, high prices for materials and low prices for prod-
uct-and God!”
“God?"
“Yes. God with his rain and drought; his heat and cold; his
wind and flood; his race hate. Eat with us and let me explain.
Have some good red wine. Now spaghetti. Taste this chicken. Now
sit out here. There, that is better. Listen. This land is good but
it is not the best, and it was priced too high, far too high. The real
estate men hoped to sell it to gentlemen who would farm as a pas-
time. They didn't want the damned Dagoes but if we must have
it, we must pay the highest price. We tried. We are still trying.
It proved too far out. It was too far for horses, and trucks cost in
gas and oil. And then the market-the wholesalers, the stevedores,
the squabbling for place, the price offered for the goods, the goods
spoiled. We tried to sell directly to the customers; the city came
with tax on taxes, rules of traffic and buy American'! And then
God. Rain that never stops till it rots the work of a season; sun
that burns until you see yourself burning in hell. Then the river
turns loose and tears down from Canada with brown destruction
and the wind whirls over from the Berkshires until the crop lies
flat on the ground. And even when all is well, what can we do?
How can we rest and play? What is there to see? Where is there
time for music, dance and song; for comfort and dream? No, my
friend, that is not the way. Believe me. I know. The consumers
should pay more for goods? They pay plenty! But who gets it?
I don't know, but I do know that we, the farmers, don't.
“Jack, if you have a big, husky family and work them like hell,
you can make a farm pay with luck in weather. But you can't
drive a family in America as we did in Italy and I guess that's
right. Three of my children have deserted already. Those two
scowling boys yonder will go this Fall. Now, if a man owns land
and has enough money to buy machinery and hire outside labor,
he can make money-on the machinery and labor, if he can find
labor. Otherwise, there's only one answer: the mills. Mills are
making money and paying good wages; with a strong union wages
can be kept up and pushed higher as profits go up. This is the
only democracy left to us in Free Enterprise; the close knit group
organized to fight and fight hard.”
paying gonicher as profits me close knit gre


126
WORLDS OF COLOR
“That's not democracy. Democracy means consultation and
decision as to aims and methods."
“Sure, and trade unionism has little of this, only the faint
beginning. It's not democracy. It's war or preparation for war."
"All right; that's it. Now, Jack, there's but one thing for
you to do. Get a job in the mills.”
“But I'd have to join a union, and most unions don't admit
colored men.”
"You'll have to push it. You see, Jack, through your grocery
you made a lot of friends. You treated people right. The best
union for you to crash is the machinists. That's dominated by
the Irish Catholics." .
"Fat chance I'd have there. The machinists have long led the
fight to exclude Negroes from trade unions."
"All right, but the Catholic Church is wise. So long as that
church represented the fight of poor Irish immigrants to get jobs
in America and not be further pauperized by poorer Negroes, the
Church paid no attention to black folk whom they regarded as
incurable Protestants of the worst type. But things have happened
among Catholics since then.”
"I know it,” said Betty. "I have been thrown with many Cath-
olics and once made a study. Black St. Benedict of Sicily was
canonized in 1807, and black Martin of Porres, in Peru, was
beatified in 1836. The colored Oblate Sisters of Province began
teaching in Baltimore in 1829, and another colored order in New
Orleans in 1842. In 1884, the first colored priest was ordained
in Chicago, and in 1889, came Bishop O'Connor's congregation
for work among Indians and colored people.
“Then in 1890 came the real beginning. Katharine Drexel
of the rich Philadelphia family furnished funds and the Catholic
Church began deliberately to proselyte among Negroes. A mission
board was established in New York City in 1907. After the war,
in 1920, German priests challenged the church by opening a
seminary for training Negro priests in Mississippi. In 1927, there
were six Negro priests and 270,000 Negro communicants. And
in 1937 came the Pope's letter ordering the American Catholic
Church to proselyte by planned effort for Negro members."
“There you are. It's even better than I thought, although I
had heard of some of this action within the Church. Now this is


The Free North
127
what you do. Get a group of the boys to back your application
for an apprenticeship in the Machinists Union. Then go to the
parish priest, not the Italian nor the French Canadian. Get the
priest of the Irish group which calls itself ‘American' to make an
appointment with the Bishop. The Bishop is a big man. Talk
with him. Will you do this? I tell you you can't lose."
Jack and Betty, with considerable advice from Jackie, talked
long over this scheme. Betty said:
“The International Association of Machinists organized in
1888, excluded Negroes and the A.F. of L. on that account would
not admit them; but in 1895 the A. F. of L. backed down and
admitted the Machinists. The anti-Negro clause of their consti-
tution was not referred to, but in 1899, one of the secretaries openly
boasted: “The Negro is not admitted.' Today when industry
is increasing by leaps and bounds, when war demands increasing
factory work, continued exclusion of Negroes is a vital matter."
Jack said: “I grew up thinking that a man's work was his
life; his way of doing what he wanted to do, which was the same
thing in my mind as to what the world wanted done. Of course, I
soon learned better, but concluded that a man could easily find
how his ability and desire could best help to do what the world
needed. That didn't work out. So then it was a search for any
useful work whether I liked it or not, provided it supported me
and left enough time for me to do what I most wanted to do. Even
that was denied. Now I'm face to face with doing what I am not
interested in, or even hate working at, and having no time left
for my own life. That, it seems to me, is the plight of the mill
hand, and I don't like it.”
“Perhaps, Jack, it will not prove as bad as that. Machinists
get high wages; enough if work is steady to maintain a good life
and with hours so limited as to leave something for hobbies and
recreation. But, of course, first you have got to gain admittance
to the union; then the union has got to fight for gradual better-
ment of its wage and conditions of work. This is not simply
your problem, it is the problem of the mass of human beings today
in civilized lands.”
"How about the uncivilized?” asked Jackie.
“And ever after, until we are ready not only to help ourselves
but all other workers of the world,” added Betty.


128
WORLDS OF COLOR
uppose have to at each
“That'll be a long time."
“It's our job to see that it's not too long."
“And suppose," put in Jackie again, “the Bishop says come
on in, but you'll have to become Catholics."
Jack and Betty looked at each other.
“Come, it's suppertime,” said Jack, and Betty started toward
the kitchen; but she said as she went: “Suppose we take that up
when the invitation comes!"
The young Irish-American priest received Jack politely, but
looked a little puzzled at his request.
“Are you Catholic?” he asked.
“No," answered Jack. "I come to you because I know that most
of the machinists are Catholics and yet they exclude Negroes. I
thought that perhaps you could persuade them to change.”
The priest looked thoughtful. Then he said:
“Mr. Carmichael, this is a serious matter and before I try to
do anything I would like to talk with the Bishop. I know that
he is particularly interested just now in labor and race relations."
“I hoped you would do that. And perhaps you will get me
a chance to talk with him?”
"I'll try and call you up soon.”
The Bishop listened carefully and then called in the three chief
officials of the Machinists Union. They were unanimously and
definitely opposed to any Negro members.
The Bishop leaned back and touched his ten fingers together.
“My sons,” he said, “we're facing great changes in the world today.
There was a time when the Catholic Church in America had the
defense of Irish laborers as its chief and almost only task. That's
true no longer. Italians, Spanish peoples and others have enlarged
our flock. Where we had 127,000 Negroes in the Church in
1927, today we have nearly 300,000. And our growth among the
dark peoples of Asia and Africa, added to our colored followers
in Central and South America, and the West Indies, makes the
mission of the Catholic Church more colored than white. More-
over, these colored people are forging forward; they are gradually
ceasing to be the children of other days. This Carmichael is an
example. Now, look here, I'm not asking you to be big-hearted
and charitable. God forgive me, but I know better than that.
You're human. I'm just saying, watch yourself and consider a


The Free North
129
small step in self-defense. If white labor doesn't begin to recog-
nize and make common cause with colored labor, colored laborers
will join employers and help crush you."
“But," answered the labor leaders, "there are no colored ma-
chinists in this town, and none coming. Even this Carmichael
is no journeyman; he'd have to enter as apprentice.”
“True, true. But there are colored machinists in the South
and thousands of Negroes who can learn. One day machinery
will come to a thousand million Asiatics and Africans,"
“But, Father, they'll never come here.”
“No, but our industry may go there. Have you ever thought
that while you are excluding Negro labor from the factories of
Springfield, these mills may one day go to Mississippi where there
are no unions, and where, if unions come, black scabs will stand
ready to displace white workers? Think that over, my sons. Con-
sider if it might not be wisdom to admit one black man now and
here rather than face a national competition which will drive your
sons into war or poverty.”
It was a week before the Bishop asked Jack Carmichael to call
and received him cordially. Jack was glum and prepared for
disappointment, but the Bishop ignored that. He set out whiskey,
ancient and good, and cigars of delicate flavor. Then he handed
Jack a letter from the Machinists Union, accepting him as ap-
prentice.
"Don't mistake this gesture," said the Bishop genially. “It is
not a free gift. It's a small yielding to my request and to their
own apprehension. But it may lead to something broader and
finer. I'm glad to have been of some little service; but here
again, I acted because I see the world on the edge of a struggle
between races and colors which may tear civilization asunder.
I want to do my bit to avoid that. No, no, no thanks! Good
day and call again.
“And by the way, that boy of yours. I saw him at the city
games. He's a fine lad. Tell him to visit our new gym. I think
he'll like it."
Jack came home elated but Betty was silent. Several days later
she came and sat on Jack's lap and thought aloud: “The problem
of earning a living is probably now settled for us. As a master
machinist and with steady employment you'll make more than a


130
WORLDS OF COLOR
clerk or grocer and as much as most professional men. I'll have
my nursing!”
“Good. Then why the gloom?"
“Because steady work for machinists will depend on making
arms and materials for war. It's the threat of world war that is
booming the arms factories and making the unions strong."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
“I had, but what of it? In this crazy world it seems we must
kill to live. We're helpless, especially we who struggle at the
bottom of the heap. I'm all at sea, dear, but we've got to stagger
ahead and peer toward the Light."
Jackie stamped in noisily and a bit late.
"Hello, all. How about food? Say Pop, that Catholic gym
is a dandy. The fellows were swell. And do you know, the
priests are not sissies. You ought to see them play tennis and
box. Remember, the YMCA wouldn't let me use the tennis courts.”
world ;
ward mall at specially


CHAPTER IX
ITINERANT PREACHER
There was another visitor to Jean's conference of 1938, who
dropped by almost accidentally-Roosevelt Wilson. Roosevelt's
mother had "given him to God” in a revival after the Atlanta
Riot and he had grown up with the Mansart children. He had
later studied theology in New England and then worked in a
large colored Baptist church in Atlanta. Then, in Macon he
organized a Baptist church near Manual Mansart's college and
married Sojourner, Mansart's only daughter. The expansion of
the church along Roosevelt's line of thought had been hindered
by race prejudice and the church membership itself. He had
left the Baptist Church in Macon. He was now settled in Bir-
mingham, Alabama, as an African Methodist minister. He had
dropped over to Atlanta to talk with his bishop and sound him
out on the matter of his running for bishop in 1940. He then
passed through Macon to settle various small bits of business,
and visited the conference. He was thinking deeply of his work
and destiny.
Like an obbligato running above the development of a nation
becoming socialistic, and at the same time being drawn into
defense of colonial imperialism, went the apparently unheeded
and untouched line of development among the groups into which
the nation was divided. This was especially true among the
Negroes.
There were the schools which Mansart represented, the expand
ing Negro business interests, the lawyers and physicians, the black
white-collar workers. There was Negro labor beginning to pene-
trate the white unions, and there was the Negro church. Far more
than among whites, the Negro church was more social than
religious. It was a broad center of daily life in work and play.
The Negro preachers were directors of this group to a much
greater extent than among whites.
This Roosevelt Wilson had in mind when he left the Baptist
131


132
WORLDS OF COLOR
church in Macon, Georgia, went into the African Methodist con-
nection and accepted an appointment at Birmingham, Alabama.
North Alabama was the center of a new integration of American
monopoly. Here iron and coal were part of a new industrial
empire reaching around the world; and here in mining, as once
in cotton, the Negro worker was becoming an indispensable factor.
Wilson hardly saw all of the broader economic picture, but he
did sce his church as stepping stone to high positions for himself
as a social leader.
He took hold of a sprawling organization in 1936, in the midst
of the “New Deal,” and began to build it into the semblance
of the sort of church that he had planned in Macon. This was
a new church of working people, strategically placed. Into this
church he and Sojourner cnticed miners and artisans who had
joined the new CIO unions and had some money to spend. In two
years, they had erected a church edifice of which the Negroes
were inordinately proud. Then came the social center, which
was the only decent place in the city where Negroes were welcome
to recreation separated from drunkenness and gambling.
He spread his organization and influence. He had a nursery
school and a forum for discussion. He cooperated with labor
unions. He became known in the white city as a progressive man
with a certain independence. He did not beg for anything. He
did not want charity. His church raised its own money and
contributed to the poor and unfortunate.
And at the same time Wilson was building his fences for the
Bishopric. At the next general conference, in 1940, he was deter-
mined that there would be no doubt but that he represented the
most constructive and forward-looking forces in the connection.
Wilson found his hands tied more tightly than they had been
in his Baptist church. Over him was a Presiding Elder with
power, and over the Elder was a Bishop, all-powerful. He began
to work on the Bishop, who was an old man but well-preserved.
His knowledge of human nature was wide and deep. He was
selfish and not too scrupulous, but keen, and he wanted his
church to go forward. He watched Wilson, he listened to him.
Often, with a certain ruthlessness, he swept aside the proposals
of the Presiding Elder, and his objections, and followed the plans
of Wilson.


The Itinerant Preacher
133
Still, the demands of the Presiding Elder were influential. He
was a big, loud man, jealous of Wilson and bent on increasing
his own popularity with the Bishop by his contributions to “Dollar
Money,” and “Dollar Money” was the life blood of the church.
Wilson became angry at the manifest efforts to reduce his social
and charitable activities by larger contribution to the general
church funds. A serious break was avoided only by the Bishop.
He sided with Wilson on the distribution of funds, but secretly
promised to support the Presiding Elder for the bishopric in the
1940 convention of the church.
This, naturally, Wilson did not know. His outstanding success
made him believe that his own merits would elect him by acclaim.
He attended the general conference in Chicago and was over-
whelmingly defeated. His great handicap was that he was far too
new a convert to this church. This ancient foundation demanded
a long novitiate. He must serve as a worker in the ranks. He
did not realize this. He did not understand that in this church
his work as a Baptist counted as nothing. What he did realize
was that the place which he wanted was literally put up at auction
and sold to the highest bidder-the Presiding Elder.
Wilson came back to Birmingham and resumed his work but
did not even try to conceal his dislike of the Bishop. The in-
evitable happened: at the end of the year, without hint or noti-
fication, he was transferred to Annisberg, Alabama-a poor, run-
down charge. He protested. The Bishop was frank.
"You want to be a bishop? Then you must work for it and
work long and hard."
“There were many men in Chicago who had worked longer
and harder than your candidate."
“Sure there were, son. Most ministers can never be bishop."
“But,” protested Wilson, “all my work in Birmingham is lost.
Your favorite candidate for the bishopric gets it and I am thrown
a run-down old church, to climb from the bottom again. Four
years of effort are lost.”
"Oh, no," said the Bishop, “not lost. The church will build
on what you have done. It will be easy to get a man to carry
this work on, but difficult to get a man like you to begin a new
work. You'll have a chance to do this in Annisberg."
But Wilson was angry. “It is unjust,” he said.
this work ou'll haves angry


134
WORLDS OF COLOR
The Bishop looked at him coldly and said, “Take it or leave
it!”
Literally, there was nothing else to do. He was caught in a
machine. But Sojourner was not easily excited or upset and said
quite calmly: “Let's go and see what it's like."
Annisberg was about seventy-five miles west of Birmingham,
near the Georgia border and on the Tallahoosa River, a small and
dirty stream. The city was a center of manufacture, especially in
textiles, and also because of the beauty of some of its surround-
ings, a residence for many owners of the great industries in north
Alabama. But it had, as was usual in southern cities of this
sort, a Black Bottom, a low region near the river where the Negroes
lived-servants and laborers huddled together in a region with no
sewage save the river, where streets and sidewalks were neglected
and where there was much poverty and crime.
Wilson came by train from Birmingham and looked the city
over; the rather pleasant white city was on the hill where the
chief stores were. Beyond were industries and factories. Then
they went down to Black Bottom. In the midst of this crowded
region was the Allen African Methodist Episcopal Church. It
was an old and dirty wooden structure, sadly in need of repair.
But it was a landmark. It had been there 50 years or more and
everybody in town, black and white, knew of it. It had just
suffered a calamity, the final crisis in a long series of calamities.
For the old preacher who had been there twenty-five years was
dead, and the city mourned him.
He was a loud-voiced man, once vigorous but for many years
now declining in strength and ability. He was stern and over-
bearing with his flock, but obsequious and conciliatory with the
whites, especially the rich who partly supported the church. The
Deacon Board, headed by a black man named Carlson, had prac-
tically taken over as the pastor grew old, and had its way with
the support of the Amen corner.
The characteristic thing about this church was its Amen corner
and the weekly religious orgy. A knot of old worshippers, chiefly
women, listened weekly to a sermon. It began invariably in low
tones, almost conversational, and then gradually worked up to
high, shrill appeals to God and man. And then the Amen corner
took hold, re-enacting a form of group participation in worship


The Itinerant Preacher
135
that stemmed from years before the Greek chorus, spreading down
through the African forest, overseas to the West Indies, and then
here in Alabama. With shout and slow dance, with tears and
song, with scream and contortion, the corner group was beset
by hysteria and shivering, wailing, shouting, possession of some-
thing that seemed like an alien and outside force. It spread
to most of the audience and was often viewed by visiting whites
who snickered behind handkerchief and afterward discussed Negro
religion. It sometimes ended in death-like trances with many
lying exhausted and panting on chair and floor. To most of
those who composed the Amen corner it was a magnificent and
beautiful experience, something for which they lived from week
to week. It was often re-enacted in less wild form at the Wednes-
day night prayer meeting.
Wilson, on his first Sunday, witnessed this with something
like disgust. He had preached a short sermon, trying to talk
man-to-man to the audience, to tell them who he was, what he
had done in Macon and Birmingham, and what he proposed
to do here. He synipathized with them on the loss of their old
pastor. But then, at mention of that name, the Amen corner
broke loose. He had no chance to say another word. At the
very end, when the audience was silent and breathless, a collec-
tion was taken and then slowly everyone filed out. The audience
did not think much of the new pastor, and what the new pastor
thought of the audience he did not dare at the time to say.
During the next weeks he looked over the situation. First of
all there was the parsonage, an utterly impossible place for civi-
lized people to live in, originally poorly conceived, apparently not
repaired for years, with no plumbing or sewage, with rat-holes
and rot. It was arranged that he would board in the home of
one of the old members of the church, a woman named Catt who,
as Wilson afterward found, was briefly referred to as The Cat
because of her sharp tongue and fierce initiative.
Ann Catt was a lonely, devoted soul, never married, conduct-
ing a spotless home and devoted to her church, but a perpetual
dissenter and born critic. She soared over the new pastor like
an avenging angel lest he stray from the path and not know all
the truth and gossip of which she was chief repository.
Then Wilson looked over the church and studied its condition.


136
WORLDS OF COLOR
The salary of the pastor had for years been $500 annually and
even this was in arrears. Wilson made up his mind that he must
receive at least $2,500, but when he mentioned this to the Deacons
they said nothing. The church itself must be repaired. It was
infested with vermin. It was falling to pieces. It was dirty and
neglected. It really ought to be rebuilt, and he determined to
go up and talk to the city banks about this. Meanwhile, the
city itself should be talked to. The streets in the colored section
were dirty. There was typhoid and malaria. The children had
nowhere to go and no place to play, not even sidewalks. The
school was small, dark and ill-equipped. The teacher was a pliant
fool. There were two liquor saloons not very far from the church,
one white, that is, conducted for white people with a side entrance
for Negroes; the other exclusively Negro. Undoubtedly, there was
a good deal of gambling in both.
On the other side of the church was a quiet, well-kept house
with shutters and recently painted. Wilson inquired about it.
It was called Kent House. The deacon of the church, Carlson,
was its janitor. One of the leading members of the Amen corner
was cook; there were two or three colored maids employed there.
Wilson was told that it was a sort of hotel for white people, which
seemed to him rather queer. Why should a white hotel be set
down in the center of Black Bottom? But nevertheless it looked
respectable. He was glad to have it there.
The rest of Black Bottom was a rabbit warren of homes in
every condition of neglect, disrepair and careful upkeep. Dives,
carefully repaired huts, and nicely painted and ornamented cot-
tages were jumbled together cheek by jowl with little distinction.
The best could not escape from the worst and the worst nestled
cosily beside the better. The yards, front and back, were narrow;
some were trash dumps, some had flower gardens. Behind were
privies, for there was no sewage system.
After looking about a bit, Wilson discovered beyond Black
Bottom, across the river and far removed from the white city,
a considerable tract of land, and it occurred to him that the
church and the better Negro homes might gradually be moved
to this plot. He talked about it to the Presiding Elder. The
Presiding Elder looked him over rather carefully. He was not
sure what kind of a man he had in hand. But there was one
a consideraross the river ambit, Wilson disco


The Itinerant Preacher
137
thing that he had 10 stress, and that was that the contribution
to the general church expenses, the dollar money, had been seri-
ously falling behind in this church, and that must be looked after
immediately. In fact, he intimated clearly that that was the reason
that Wilson had been sent here-to make a larger contribution
of dollar money.
Wilson stressed the fact that clear as this was, they must have
a better church, a more business-like conduct of the church organ-
ization, and an effort to get this religious center out of its rut
of wild worship into a modern church organization. He empha-
sized to the Presiding Elder the plan of giving up the old church
and moving across the river. The Presiding Elder was sure that
that would be impossible. But he told Wilson to “go ahead and
try." And Wilson tried.
It did seem impossible. The bank which held the mortgage
on the old church declared that the interest was considerably
in arrears, and the real estate people said flatly that the land
across the river was being held for an eventual development for
white working people who were coming in, and that none would
be sold to colored folk. When it was proposed to rebuild the
church, Wilson found that the terms for a new mortgage were
very high. He was sure that he could do better if he went to
Atlanta to get the deal financed.
But when this proposal was made to his Deacon Board, he
met unanimous opposition. The church certainly would not be
removed. The very proposition was sacrilege. It had been here
fifty years. It was going to stay forever. It was hardly possible
to get any argument on the subject. As for rebuilding, well,
that might be looked into, but there was no hurry, no hurry at all.
Wilson again went downtown to a different banker, an intelli-
gent young white man who seemed rather sympathetic, but he
shook his head.
"Reverend,” he said, “I think you don't quite understand the
situation here. Don't you see the amount of money that has been
invested by whites around that church? Tenements, stores, saloons,
some gambling, I hope not too much. The colored people are
getting employment at Kent House and other places, and they
are near their places of employment. When a city has arranged
things like this you cannot easily change them. Now, if I were


138
WORLDS OF COLOR
you I would just plan to repair the old church so it would last
for five or ten years. By that time, perhaps something better can
be done.”
Then Wilson asked, "What about this Kent House which you
mention? I don't understand why a white hotel should be down
here."
The young banker looked at him with a certain surprise, and
then he said flatly: "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything in
particular about Kent House. You'll have to find out about it
on your own. Hope to see you again.” And he dismissed the
colored pastor.
It was next day that Sojourner came and sat beside him and
took his hand. She said, “My dear, do you know what Kent
House is?"
“No,” said Wilson, “I don't. I was just asking about it. What
is it?”
“It's a house of prostitution for white men with white girls
as inmates. They hire a good deal of local labor, including two
members of our Trustee Board. They buy some supplies from
our colored grocers and they are patronized by some of the best
white gentlemen in town.”
Wilson stared at her. “My dear, you must be mistaken.”
“Talk to Mrs. Catt,” she said.
And after Wilson had talked to Mrs. Catt and to others, he
was absolutely amazed. This, of course, was the sort of thing that
used to take place in Southern cities-putting white houses of pros-
titution with colored girls in colored neighborhoods and carrying
them on openly. But it had largely disappeared on account of
protest by the whites and through growing resentment on the part
of the Negroes as they became more educated and got better wages.
But this situation of Kent House was more subtle. The wages
involved were larger and more regular. The inmates were white
and from out of town, avoiding local friction. The backing from
the white town was greater and there was little publicity. Good
wages, patronage and subscription of various kinds stopped open
protest from Negroes. And yet, Wilson knew that this place
must go or he must go. And for him to leave this job now with-
out accomplishing anything would mean practically the end of


The Itinerant Preacher
139
his career in the Methodist church, if not in all churches. He
talked fiercely to Mrs. Catt.
"That place ought to be burned down!" he said.
She looked at him a bit wildly and said, “My dear pastor,
that is exactly what I have done had in inind for years. Protest
is nothing. We is in bondage to a house of shame. I'd hate to
hurt those pretty girls. They ain't to blame. But if it should
burn down there sure would be a big chance to make mighty loud
protest before it was ever built agin. I don't see what else we
can do. It's gotta burn! God tells me!"
Wilson pulled himself together and looked at the wild-eyed
woman. “My dear lady," he said, “I of course didn't mean that
literally. You must-you must put it out of your mind. l-I was
just talking in a general way."
Mrs. Catt looked at him calmly. “I knows just how you was
talking and just what you really means. I thinks as I have thought
for the last ten years. It's gotta burn!”
Wilson went to town and got a clear idea of indebtedness,
of the lack of insurance of church and parsonage, and what it
would cost to borrow more money. The cost was very high. He
talked the matter over with his Board and tried to make plans for
more regular and larger contributions. The response was not
good. Mr. Carlson and the others seemed to think that they were
already raising more money than they could afford, that they
might possibly double the pastor's salary and make it $1,000.00
but not a cent more, and that on the whole they wondered if Mr.
Wilson wouldn't be better satisfied with a church elsewhere. And
Mr. Wilson told them flatly that he would not.
For several weeks he studied the situation. Nearly every Sun-
day he found himself turned back into the African past by the
Amen corner, despite his cold, critical sermons. Moreover, he was
receiving in the collection not even as much money as the church
had been used to raising. Contributions from the whites fell
markedly. He could see that he was being shoved out and back
none too gently. He again had a talk with the Presiding Elder,
who under the worsening circumstances listened more sympa-
thetically.
Wilson took the train for Atlanta. There he sat down with
the Bishop and went over the situation.


140
WORLDS OF COLOR
"My dear Bishop, there isn't a chance to do anything in Annis-
berg unless I can get rid of that Board of Trustees and the domi-
nation of Carlson. I want you and the Presiding Elder to help
me do this.”
The Bishop scowled, and just as he was about to say that
this was more than he was willing even to attempt, there came a
ring at his doorbell and a telegraph boy appeared with a mes-
sage for Wilson. The telegram said that Allen church and par-
sonage, and some of the neighboring buildings in Annisberg, had
burned down.
Wilson rushed back home. It was all too true. But there
were other strange and disconcerting facts which he learned.
The Cat, as his hostess was called, was dead. She had been seen
setting fire to the church at sunset, spreading the flames with
her torch from cellar to roof. Then she had climbed out on the
roof of Kent House, wavered there and almost fallen, while, amid
screams from the street, she set fire from attic to cellar, giving the
inmates a chance to escape.
The girls had rushed out in every condition of dress and
undress, and there had been a number of men who had run out
at the same time. Unfortunately the mayor of the city, in his
attempt to escape, had broken his leg. The morning paper
praised him for his valiant attempts to put out the fire.
The chief of police came down and talked to Wilson rather
truculently. "I want to know what you know about this fire."
“I know nothing at all. I have only been pastor of this church
for a few months and have really made few plans and secured little
power to direct it."
“Where were you last night?”
“I was in Atlanta talking to the Bishop of the Diocese.”
“Planning this fire?"
"No."
"Have you ever heard anybody talk about burning down this
church?”
“No," answered the pastor, lying bluntly.
“Listen, Wilson, this is serious business, and we have a sus-
picion that some of these darkies deliberately burned this church
and Kent House under your advice!"
"Why, sir, should they burn Kent House?"


The Itinerant Preacher
141
“I don't care why, but if they did somebody is going to jail
for life.”
“I should think,” said Mr. Wilson, “this might be a matter
of rejoicing on the part of the people of this city, that they have
gotten rid of a house of prostitution right in the midst of their
only colored dwelling district."
"If you dare say anything like that in public, Wilson-"
And Wilson bent forward and said, “I dare, and I'm going to."
The City Council took the whole situation under careful
consideration. This was bringing into public discussion some-
thing that would hurt the city's reputation. Carlson, of the col-
ored church, was starting an appeal to white friends for funds
with which to rebuild, and Wilson learned that always in the
past Kent House had contributed generously to carry on the
church. He took a firm stand against appealing for funds to
anyone who wanted this house of prostitution restored. And he
went to the City Council to talk about it. But the Council would
not listen to him. The banker was willing to furnish funds for
the rebuilding of the church. The matter of the disputed Kent
House was left in abeyance.
Then Sojourner went into action. She knew that there was
planned a meeting of the Missionary Society of the city among
the white women. It had to do with foreign missionary work in
Africa. She went to the president of the Methodist Society and
asked her if she would not like participation on the part of the
colored people. She suggested, for instance, that she might bring
a group to render some of the Negro spirituals.
Mrs. Dawes, who was a very pleasant and amiable person and
not too bright, was delighted, and asked Sojourner to bring her
group on a certain evening. When she brought the matter
before the Missionary Societies she did not find quite the coop-
eration that she had expected. There was another matter that
had to do with the question of inviting the Catholic Church and
the Unitarian Church to take part. Finally, after rather warm dis-
cussion it was decided that they would not be included in the
joint meeting. And after that, the weary meeting assented to
having this colored woman bring her singers and give some Negro
music.
Thus, it was that Sojourner went to one of the finer homes of


142
WORLDS OF COLOR
the city, on the hill, and sitting in the back parlor where her
girls would not be too conspicuous, waited for the signal for her
little group to sing. It was a rather long wait and most of the
ladies present were willing to have the singing put off to some
other time. But they were tired and a little hungry, and so while
colored servants passed around sandwiches and soft drinks, So-
journer arose and walking into the main parlor, said a word.
“I was thinking, perhaps, ladies,” she said, “that you would
not mind if I preface my music with just a word about one matter
which is exercising us very much down in Black Bottom.” She
spoke in a low and cultivated voice and the ladies stared. And
then she dropped her bombshell. She said calmly, “I refer to the
proposal to rebuild in Black Bottom that house of prostitution
known as Kent House."
There was an astounded silence, and then almost a scream of
protest. But one large handsome woman arose in the back and
literally yelled them into silence. “Listen. I'm going to hear
about this! I know that talk has been stopped and I've tried in
vain to get the truth. If this woman has anything to say, I'm for
having it said right here."
And then Sojourner calmly told them that here was a house
conducted by a Madam who had ample financial backing and
police protection, and who kept in the house as virtual prisoners
some fifteen or twenty young white women from out of town
who were at the service of the friends and relatives of the ladies
sitting right here. “And Christians of Black Bottom do not want
that institution restored after God in his Mercy has burned it
down.”
Then, not waiting for the astounded ladies to recover poise
or voice, she sat down at the piano and, gaihering her girls about
her, they began to sing:
"Let us all bow together on our knees. Let us all pray
together on our knees. Let us all sing together, to meet the
rising sun! Let us all sing together, if you please.”
The meeting broke up in confusion, but the big, handsome
woman tore into her home a half hour later, and when at the
door she heard her husband's cheerful voice, "Hello, Rosebud,


144
WORLDS OF COLOR
he could build up a church. He knew that. He could build up a
strong constituency which would regularly contribute to the sup-
port of himself and the church in general. He could, if necessary,
build new edifices, with social rooms and modern conveniences,
with no debt, with an income which would pay himself a reason-
able salary, pay an assistant and a number of social workers. He
could start institutions for old people and children.
But while he was doing this, the demands from the Bishop
and the general church would continually increase. There was
not only the dollar money as it was called, which was a tax of a
dollar a head on membership, but there were all sorts of special
causes-missions, domestic and foreign, especially missions to Africa.
Some of these causes were good, some were frauds. At any rate,
it was difficult to discriminate or refuse. It was dangerous to
get in the bad graces of the Presiding Elders, and particularly of
The Bishop.
The Bishop was well-nigh all-powerful. He not only received
a good salary, but in addition to that he made forays and requests
and demands of the district and of the church. When he came to
visit, he expected not only free support but presents and money,
clothes, shirts and shoes. In the course of the year these gifts to
the presiding bishop or to other visiting bishops amounted to
thousands of dollars. If they were not given, the minister need
not expect a good appointment!
Of course, the Bishop must bow to local opinion, and on local
opinion Wilson could count. His constituents always wanted him
to return. Nevertheless, the Bishop and the Presiding Elder
together could transfer him and at the end of three years by law
they must transfer him. However, if he stood well with them
he might possibly stay longer than that. He might stay almost
indefinitely. But to stand well under such circumstances meant
a tribute of money and subserviency.
Under these circumstances, it was natural for Roosevelt Wilson
to redouble his efforts to attain the bishopric. He was by far one
of the most successful pastors in the connection. He was well-
trained, he had a talented wife and he was personally a decent
man with high ideals. Moreover, he believed in the church and
in its dogma. Not slavishly; he couldn't recite the Apostle's
Creed, much less the Nicene Creed, and say that every word of it


The Itinerant Preacher
145
was true; but in general he accepted the Christian dogma. But
he wanted to see it exemplified and typified in human lives,
and he leaned strongly toward the socialistic state.
But beyond the personal ideas and decisions of the Bishop
were the attitudes of the preachers who elected the bishop in the
general conference. They were selected as delegates by their
churches, and Wilson found that very widely they were seeking
these places for the possibility of getting close to the bishop, and
for the probability of actually getting paid for their attendance
and vote.
In their minds, it was not exactly selling out-it was a means
of support for people who represented poor folk. They were
mostly getting miserably small salaries and working hard for that.
If they were elected to the General Conference, the provision for
their expenses was small, but there was always the possibility
of going to the conference and being able to receive, not publicly
of course, a definite sum of money if they would vote for a par-
ticular candidate. This bribery for the bishopric, Wilson found
to his astonishment, was not only widespread but it was growing.
Wilson now tried another tack commonly attempted by dis-
satisfied ministers. He applied for transfer to another diocese.
The bishop presiding over Texas welcomed him. He knew that
Wilson was a good money-raiser and suspected that his hard experi-
ence would make him more amenable to advice. He needed
such a man in Dallas where a prominent church was getting
out of hand. He sent Wilson to the largest church of the con-
nection, in Dallas.
It was a church of the colored prosperous and well-to-do. It
had numbers of professional men, merchants, insurance men and
contractors. There were some skilled artisans and some old and
trusted servants of the rich whites. It had a beautiful edifice
and a well-equipped parsonage and church house. Its surpliced
choir sang well, but avoided for the most part the spirituals. The
church contributed to the city Community Chest and did not
solicit contributions from whites, although some donations could
not be refused. It had a forum which discussed politics as well
as general matters. It was a body, only slightly religious and not
at all social minded. It had no debt.
It wanted a minister who would show off and emphasize its


146
WORLDS OF COLOR
assured place in the community. It paid its pastors well. The
Reverend Roosevelt Wilson at first sight seemed to fill the bill
admirably. His first sermons were excellent-restrained, with
learned allusions. The ones that followed, on social reform, work-
ers and poverty, were less appreciated. The next talk, on trade
unions, brought a conference with the Board of Trustees. The
church was distinctly against unions. Its members had suffered
from discrimination, not only in trying to join the unions but even
after joining. Moreover, many of them themselves hired labor for
personal service and for profit. They insisted that the subject
be kept out of future sermons. Meantime, they suggested that
Wilson ought to have an automobile for visiting his widely scat-
tered congregation and for business matters. He could obtain one
at nominal expense.


CHAPTER X
BISHOP WILSON
Deterioration set in gradually. Wilson's ministry was com-
fortable. His salary was good and promptly paid. The raising of
money was adequately attended to by the deacons. The church
program was planned by the numerous groups, clubs and societies.
Wilson's renewed suggestions about trade unions, boys' clubs,
slum activities and other matters were listened to courteously and
patiently. Then they disappeared “in committee” and if they
emerged again they were transformed into something unrecog-
nizable or merged with previous efforts of a singularly different
type. The firm basis of conservative, respectable church life was
not altered a bit.
At first Wilson protested. He objected, even rebelled, but this
was gradually forgotten in a really charming social life. His
calls on his parishioners were delightful, and there the policy
of the church, long set, was explained to him and defended while
he was attentively listened to.
The card clubs early took him in. There were dozens of them
in and connected with the church, each with a score to fifty mem-
bers, and varying from enjoyable social gatherings to respectable
drinking bouts, with flirting and feasting. At all these social meet-
ings, Wilson was flattered and praised.
As he aged, he looked more impressive; his skin grew sleeker,
his bushy hair became a crown of iron-gray, his face dignified with
lines of experience. His sermons slowly changed from crusade
and invective and attacks on the white world, to description and
reflection and suggestions of compromise, from the Bible and
Shakespeare to current literature. He found increasing companion-
ship in the church-doubters, cynics, pleasure-seekers, as well as
earnest souls who dreamed of but recoiled from action and who,
particularly in the face of the all-pervasive race problems, were
not so sure of the ultimate answer as he was at first.
Especially, his almost forgotten attraction to beautiful women
147


148
WORLDS OF COLOR
now began to evoke his own dormant interest. It was delicious
to sip wine and munch intricate sandwiches in a modern living
room with the rapt attention of a charming, well-dressed woman
who had leisure and who was as entranced as he. Increasing por-
tions of his spare time came to be consumed that way and he had
less time for church and home.
All this Sojourner did not fail to notice. Naturally unassertive,
tending to take refuge in thoughtful silence rather than in ques-
tions, and least of all in complaint, she felt the ache within her
grow. She realized how deftly her music had been eliminated
by the church. The Negro spirituals which she had revived in
the services after long disuse were gradually relegated to new disuse
by suggestions of classic melody, of modern music and form, all
put forward quite kindly in the sincere attempt to increase the
prestige of the church.
Sojourner for a long time acquiesced and voiced no protest.
Her idea of the marriage communion was to help when help was
sought, otherwise to wait and hope. But gradually, she began to
realize that passive yielding was as useless in a church and family
as in a race and nation. She began to think, plan and work.
Almost imperceptibly she began deliberately to split the church.
Over against the gay, drinking, card-playing spenders and dressers
she organized the singers and musicians, the readers, painters and
actors. She gathered the youth and children from the parish and
beyond, seeking talent even in the slums.
She organized her friends within and without the church. They
took up Negro music as it was developing-Will Cook, Burleigh
and Dett. She had them study the African drums that Shirley
Graham had brought into her opera “Tom Tom,” which a group
of colored and white players staged as a city-wide venture in
Cleveland. They followed Shirley's "Swing Mikado” which later
entranced Chicago and New York until driven off the stage by the
same capitalist theatre that killed WPA.
Then Sojourner organized a Negro Little Theater patterned
after the Krigwa Players in New York and the white Little Theater
of Dallas. Paul Green's play, “No 'Count Boy,” was set for a
Friday night, but it developed that the most ostentatious and
extravagant of Wilson's card clubs had chosen the same night
to hold a session at a new night club in the suburbs. It was an


Bishop Wilson
149
elaborate night club and represented a large investment. Several
members of the card club were among the investors. They needed
a flaming opening and the card club's party was just the thing;
it was strictly private and cost $100 a member. The curious
public would pay off on Saturday night following.
Wilson naturally had planned to attend the play at his wife's
Little Theater, but neither date could be changed and the mem-
bers of the card club, who wanted him to attend their party,
brought up their heaviest artillery which included some beautiful
and gorgeously gowned colored visitors from Chicago. A compro-
mise was quickly reached. The Reverend Mr. Wilson's ticket
was free, and he would come to dinner at six and leave early
enough to reach the Little Theater by nine.
The dinner was quite late but delicious, the company was
charming and more, and the party in exotic surroundings grew
wild. It was an alluring place, the walls flamboyantly decorated
with animals, scrolls and near naked dark and pretty women in
seductive poses; yellow, crimson and gold suffused the room; soft
music and lowered lights pervaded the scene, and waiters danced
and sang on their missions. Liquor flowed freely from an open
bar, with white-clad bartenders and half-naked flower girls. Wilson
crawled into bed about four o'clock Saturday morning.
He awoke at ten with a splitting headache and a feeling of
utter despair. For the first time in his life he had been drunk
in public. He lay back in misery and stared at the ceiling. What
had he done last night and who had witnessed his disgrace? Of
course, Sojourner had risen long since and slipped downstairs
quietly, despite the fact that she too must be very tired. Finally,
she knocked softly and brought him a breakfast tray and the
morning papers. She said nothing but kissed him gently and left.
She left and ran up to her secluded nest near the roof. She
tore her violin almost roughly from its case. Hardly conscious
of what she was doing, she played a poem, ripping from the instru-
ment's entrails the pain and pity of her life. The first movement
was rage and fury; she stripped the tones as gut cut gut and dis-
sonance whined from the strained wood. Then came dark hate
and dull despair as the violin grieved and quivered. Blending
and low harmony followed with slow understanding of the deep
roll of widened knowledge and high resolve. She rested, pal.


150
WORLDS OF COLOR
pitating, and caressed the bow until finally melody crept into
her soul and slipped softly over the strings--softly and sweetly-
with forgiveness and love, the love that gives forever without return.
Across the way, neighbors lifted their windows and listened.
Carefully, at last she laid the violin in its bed. Silently she slipped
enstairs to her Wilson sat upthe Express.
After a time, Wilson sat up. He could not eat but drank his
coffee. Then idly he glanced at the Express. War had started in
Europe-let it start! Roosevelt wanted us to enter; but why?
Then he turned to the amusement page. There was a column
of extravagant praise for Sojourner's play. Seldom before had
Wilson known a white daily so to praise a Negro cultural effort.
Wilson felt a mingling of exaltation and envy.
He threw the paper down and idly picked up the colored
weekly. It had a front-page display of the new and fabulous night
club and its opening, together with two murders and a hold-up.
Inside was a half column on the Little Theater. On the back
page was the gossip column. He started to throw the paper aside
when he saw at the bottom a little squib:
"The Reverend Roosevelt Wilson did not attend the
play last night. It is said he was rehearsing for the lead next
week in his wife's 'No 'Count Boy.'”
Wilson got up slowly, bathed and dressed. He was in a white
rage. This was a cooked-up thing-last night's dinner was pur-
posely late and his drink must have been “spiked"! All right, so
he was down! But by God he wasn't out! He sat down and
wrote out resignations from every social club to which he belonged.
He even sent a check in payment for his "free" ticket of the night
before. Then he composed a sermon. He wrote every word of it
by hand and then copied and corrected it. He would go down
to dinner and before retiring for the night, he would commit every
word to memory, even arrange the gestures. It would be the best
sermon he ever delivered and his Church would be thrown back
on its hind legs.
He was so full of his own scheme that he greeted Sojourner
carelessly, picking absently at her very carefully prepared dinner
and hardly glancing at her until with a cry of distress she tried


Bishop Wilson
151
to arise, then vomited into her plate. He was aghast. With help
of the maid, he half carried her to bed as she, ashamed, protested
and insisted that it was not any serious illness, but only something
she must have eaten. The physician came quickly. He was a
bright young man and had been at the party the night before.
He emerged from the bedroom laughing and patted Wilson on the
back:
“Congratulations, old man, your baby has got an excellent
start!”
Wilson groped blindly into the bedroom and took Sojourner
into his arms.
“We're going to have a baby in the family,” he stammered,
gazing into her eyes.
But she whispered: “I don't want a baby, I want a bishop."
Wilson was not superstitious, nor did he ordinarily believe in
signs. But the portents which within two days had poured down
on his head gave him pause. He was going to make a sharp turn-
about and re-orient his life. He was astonished to realize what
store Sojourner still set on his election as bishop; now he saw but
one straight unveering path ahead...
He had almost stopped reading and thinking. He had neglected
Sojourner, partly for reasons of self-indulgence and escapism, partly
because she had found a creative life apart from him and was
making a success of it. What did he now propose to do? He
would supplement Sojourner's work in music and drama by giving
her a wider audience. Heretofore, she had been entertaining a
church composed of professional men, white collar workers and
servants of the white rich. To this, he intended to add artisans
and common laborers. The church would fight this but such a
fight now would be a fight against a considerable body of white
public opinion which liked the new music-drama. There would
ensue a hell of a row, but he was ready for it.
The rest of that Saturday and far into the night, Wilson sought
out Negro trade union leaders and artisans. He visited saloons
and pool rooms. On Sunday the church was crowded with strangers.
There were mostly well-dressed artisans, but with them some
shabby working people. Wilson preached on “Labor and Labor
Organization.”
"This is a new day. It is not sufficient to train our youth for


152
WORLDS OF COLOR
business and professional life. It is not enough for us to serve the
rich and powerful. Most of our people are workers. They dig
and haul. They clean and carry. They do the fundamental work
of mankind and in return are paid too little to live decently. This
is true of the workers of the world and they are uniting to change
this situation and see that the laborer gets a larger share of the
wealth which he produces. From this day on, my work in this
church will be directed to the uplift of Negro labor in Dallas by
adult education, health promotion, and by organization for higher
wage. If the church does not support this program, then I'll
seek another church. To support this program, my wife will
continue her work in music and drama.”
There was open applause in the church that morning but
there was also silent anger and determined opposition. A promi-
nent colored contractor and trustee who paid his artisans “Negro"
wages and knew they were threatening to organize a union, got up
and walked out during the sermon. There was every element of
conventional church strife-whispering about the pastor's morals;
of his neglect of "old-time religion” and failure to stress redemp-
tion, sin and salvation; his sneering at miracles and conversion;
his envy of the well-to-do and preference for the poor, criminal
and lazy; his continual criticism of the rich whites and wooing
of the despicable poor whites; his defense of strikes and unions;
his wife's dragging in of slave music, resort to play acting, dancing
and fiddles.
The trustees consulted the Presiding Elder and the Bishop.
Instead of open battle, there was attempted compromise. The
increased audiences continued, with larger collections and meetings
of labor unions during the week in the basement. The Bishop
talked to Wilson about a church in the working districts, nearer
“the masses.” Perhaps Wilson would like to transfer there? Wilson
consented if he could have a large social center with a Little
Theater. White people cagerly offered to contribute to such a
project. But the trustees of his church objected. They were fear-
ful of losing status. They decided it would be better to keep
Wilson in his present place, then after his transfer next year, to
keep the benefits of his expansion but gradually restore their
church to normal.
Here, Wilson was back to his old quandary. He could do much


Bishop Wilson
153
here in lifting labor. But after that? Once again to the back-
woods and everything to do over again. His mind veered again
to the bishopric. What this great church needed was leadership
from the highest levels to guide and support the local pastors
who could learn his methods and ideals. It was the Bishop him.
self who started him on this line of thinking again, but whether
deliberately or not, Wilson was never sure. The Bishop called
Wilson in one day and said:
“My son, Wilberforce wants to give you an honorary degree.”
Wilson stared. He had always opposed the cheap doctorates
in “divinity” which many ministers sought so eagerly. But Wilber-
force was the leading church college and its commencements were
gathering places for leading church politicians; perhaps there a
movement for social uplift led by the church might be initiated
under his leadership. He consented and the Bishop added unex-
pectedly:
"While you are up that way, why don't you talk with your
brother-in-law in Chicago-Douglass Mansart? He is a rich and
powerful figure."
Wilson could not quite see how a man like Douglass could
advise the church. But Sojourner added an idea:
“I think you ought to go. I was planning a trip. You see,
we have about a thousand dollars profit on our theater, and I
wanted to buy some scenery and properties in Chicago. I'm sure
Douglass could get us discounts. Now, of course, expecting the
baby I can't go. Perhaps you wouldn't mind talking with him.”
Wilson seized on the idea. The theater and music were popu.
lar. Suppose the Church finally decided to get rid of him and
give him neither the bishopric nor even a decent pastorate? He
knew this was possible. He'd talk to Douglass about entering the
entertainment field as a business. Think of what the Negro audi-
ence wanted in drama, moving pictures, music-entertainment
without debauchery! Here was a career!
He ran up to Chicago before the Wilberforce commencement.
Douglass welcomed him but discouraged his entertainment schemes.
"Brother, you don't know that business. They'd skin you alive.
Now you've got no rent or taxes, no advertising, no trade unions,
and an audience made to order. Once on your own, you'd be
at the mercy of politicians and white theater owners. White movie
Wilson cousan. But Sojourne was planning a wheater, and


154
WORLDS OF COLOR
magnates would tell you what pictures you had to run and when;
stage hands would fleece you. No, Wilson, you'd have no chance.
“But see here, how about the church? Of course, you can do
little in the pastorate, but you ought to be a bishop-could do a
lot of good for the church. In fact,” said Douglass reflectively,
lighting a well-flavored Havana cigar and leaning back in his
leather armchair, “in fact, I don't know how else you could reform
the church. Talking won't do it. If you attack the bishops you
will land without an appointment, and the bishops hold the power.
Now, on the other hand—” Douglass paused and changed his
approach. “Of course, it costs money to run for the bishopric.”
“I don't see why it should cost much, outside of postage and
some travel.”
Douglass looked a bit impatient. “Everything worthwhile on
this earth costs money. There's no use getting on your high horse
and thinking of what you'd like to do. Fine thing it would be
to have the bishopric offered you on a silver salver. Forget it.
Naturally, you prefer to have this honor thrust upon you by
acclaiming thousands. That won't happen in this hungry world,
in a church of poverty-stricken workers. What you have got to
choose between is whether you or somebody else will furnish this
money.
"You'll need to provide some bread and butter for a whole
lot of poor black ministers who come up, particularly from the
South, and do not earn enough to live on. If they're not careful
and are too delicate and sensitive, they will not get enough money
to pay their board in Chicago and get home. You can call them
‘venal' and 'dishonest.' But all that you really have a right to
call them is ‘poor.'
“Now, if you pay these ministers and pay them with discretion
-not just throw your money around-you'll be bishop. Then,
if you want to be big and broad you can see to it that the min-
isters, at least in your diocese, are better paid, that there are
enough of them so that when they come to General Conferences
they can tell most of the candidates to go to hell and can vote for
the best man. Even that won't be easy to do. But that's the only
way to approach the thing you have in mind. Now, I'll make
you a proposition. I believe in you, I know you're a good pastor.
I'll loan you enough to become bishop, and you can pay me back
on your own terms.'


Bishop Wilson
155
Wilson listened with increasing distaste. At last, he said flatly,
“No, Douglass, not that. I'm not in the market to buy office
in state nor church.”
“Have it your way,” answered Douglass, “but let me know when
you change your mind.”
Evidently Douglass was prosperous and had money despite the
recent Depression. He had an elaborate home and a summer
camp; he had a beautiful wife and two children. Moreover, at
first sight it wasn't at all clear whence his money had come until
at last Wilson, who had a gift for inquiry and amassing informa-
tion, suddenly realized that Douglass was one of the men back
of the Johnson brothers' policy racket-the gambling on small pay.
ments against tremendous odds, carried on with the secret sanction
of the city and state governments. In this ring, white and black
politicians were making millions, and Douglass Mansart was in
way of becoming, or indeed already was, a rich man. One of the
results of the Depression had been to encourage gambling.
Wilson was no strict moralist. He was not too nice in his
scruples. He recognized that this was a world where dishonesty
was often successful. It was doubtful if the righteous man usually
had the chance to "flourish like the green bay tree.” On the whole,
the man who was not too dishonest was the man who often got
the chance at leadership and constructive work. But he made up
his mind not to give up his hopes and ideals yet-not yet.
Wilson quickly made up his mind as to his procedure. He
would continue his present work, and would let other pastors
know about it. He would go to the General Conference and push
the necessity of the Church taking a stand on labor and social
problems. He might get wide support, might even develop such
power that he would become a formidable candidate for the
bishopric in 1944, or later. If not,if he was ignored or defeated-
then he must think of another career, perhaps as a social worker,
or even of a return to the autonomous Baptist Church in some
industrial center.
He went to the meeting at Wilberforce University determined
to observe how great a sentiment he could find against bribery
in the General Conference, for a labor movement among Negroes,
and a church movement that wouid fight for health and social
security. This church, since 1850, had done much for education.


156
WORLDS OF COLOR
Now that the city and state had taken over the schools-or were
due to-could not the church turn to social reform?
He was at first disappointed at Wilberforce. The college
had been almost entirely swallowed by the new neighboring state
school. Its final demise seemed in sight. But on the other hand,
Wilson met there a group of young ministers who thought as he
did on social progress. They had several conferences. They
criticized and suggested and when Wilson left, it was with a dis-
tinct understanding that in 1944, at Kansas City, he would lead
a reform movement against bribery and for social uplift.
On reaching Dallas, he talked the matter over with Sojourner.
She agreed of course, but to his surprise she had less faith in the
Wilberforce movement than in Douglass. She said:
"A bishop of the African Church is a great and powerful man.
In the past, good bishops built this greatest organization of black
America. Lesser and smaller bishops have debased and nearly
ruined this divine institution. It needs you. You are a good
man. If you can get this place honestly, get it.”
"Is bribery honest?”
“No, it is not. Neither is starvation. If, by helping poor and
ignorant ministers, you can begin to overthrow this poverty and
· want, you ought to try it. This is not right, but it helps overthrow
wrong."
"Jesuit!” murmured Wilson.
Then the birth of Sojourner's daughter dispersed all thought
of everything. She was a dark and physically perfect baby, and
Sojourner went through the ordeal far better than they had
feared. When the baby faced her second birthday, in the Spring
of 1944, Sojourner suggested a visit to Chicago. It seemed that
the little girl needed to have her tonsils inspected with a view
to possible removal. Sojourner did not trust the white hospitals
in Dallas, where no Negro could rent a private room and where
attention in the colored ward might not be the best. Wilson had
come to be very fond of his little daughter and suggested a
later trip when the treacherous Chicago weather would be milder.
Indeed, they might go together in August, at the time of the
General Conference in Kansas City. There was an excellent
colored hospital there.
But Douglass, who had been consulted, wrote that at some


Bishop Wilson
157
pains he had secured the services of the best tonsil expert in the
city and advised immediate consultation. So Sojourner and the
baby went to Chicago. Douglass hardly recognized his sister.
He had not seen her since her marriage and had hardly noticed
her for many years before. He saw a comely, well-dressed woman,
not handsome, not even good-looking, but who carried herself with
quiet dignity. She could talk and had something to say. Her
child showed care and training. Even Douglass' wife was im-
pressed and re-arranged her guest room and re-assorted her guests.
Since the baby's tonsils proved to be quite perfect and her general
condition satisfactory, she was packed off to nursery school. Then
Douglass and Sojourner sat down in his office for a talk. Sojourner
immediately came to the point.
“Douglass, I want you to lend me the funds to finance my
husband's campaign for the bishopric."
“Well, well! So he's come to his senses."
“No, he has not, but I have. The fight in our Dallas church
is fierce and forbidding. I am sure that if my husband fails to
be elected bishop this year, he never will be. Also, he will lose
this church whose leaders hate him, and he'll have great difficulty
in finding another or in finding any work which will satisfy him.
On the other hand, he is beginning to believe he has a chance
of election. There is really a ground swell behind him."
Douglass smiled. “A ground swell which, if added to by a care-
ful campaign and enough cash will produce a Bishop Wilson.
Otherwise, he'll be an ‘also ran.' He'll get a good vote, but won't
be elected. I know who's bidding against him and how much!"
“All right; but how much cash will be ‘enough'?":
“About $10,000.”
“$10,000! You're joking! It can't cost that unless you're pro-
posing to go in for wholesale bribery."
"No, I'm not. But there's competition, fierce competition. The
price at the last General Conference was about $5,000. But prices
have gone up. And it's not all bribery, as you call it. There are
quite legitimate costs of publicity if we go at this sensibly; there
are some real personal expenses of travel and board which the
friends of your husband cannot afford to meet. Then, there are
a few out and out grafters whose mouths must be filled. Oh,
I know it sounds pretty nasty. But, little sister, you're in a
nasty world.”


158
WORLDS OF COLOR
"But if I undertake this, which I now doubt, I couldn't possibly
afford such a sum. I'd thought of a thousand, or possibly two.
But ten thousand-Douglass, it's fantastic!" And Sojourner arose.
But Douglass pushed her gently back into her seat. “Wait,
wait and let's consider this proposition. I'm a gambler and I
believe in Wilson. He's a good man, which I'll say of few other
preachers I know. And he's got a good, far-reaching program.
I'll take a chance. Let me manage his campaign. If he loses,
it'll cost you nothing. If he wins, I'll hand him the bill. And
it'll be damn near ten thousand bucks or I'm much mistaken!"
“Done!” said Sojourner.
Of this scheme, Wilson knew nothing. He was pleased to
hear good reports about his daughter's tonsils and assented to
her and Sojourner spending the Spring in Chicago, with its musical
and theatrical opportunities. He joined them in August, when,
accompanied by Douglass and his wife, they all went to Kansas
City. Wilson was encouraged. His mail was large. His pro-
posals for a labor and social program were listened to with enthu-
siasm by the large audiences at the Conference, although the
bishops and general officers said little.
Then, when the time for nominations came, Wilson heard him-
self nominated for the bishopric in a flowery but earnest speech,
and not by a Texan but by a lay delegate from Birmingham,
where he once was pastor. For a moment, his dream of a mass
movement behind his program seemed to be sweeping the Confer-
ence, with him in the lead. A wave of exultation floated over him.
He was to conquer Evil with Good. His lips trilled the old hymn:
“Let us sound the loud timbrel over Egypt's dark sea;
Jehovah has triumphed. His people are free."
He wanted to pray, but just then a tall Texas preacher bent
over him and whispered:
"Er-Reverend-I'm afraid I have got to change my mind. I
just told the Madame that a couple of hundred dollars would
meet my expense. But I find it won't. I'll just have to have at
least three hundred. I'm terribly sorry—".
Wilson arose and his face went pale. “Madame who?" he
snapped.
"Why, Mrs. Wilson, of course. I thought you knew-"
"I didn't.” And Wilson walked off.


Bishop Wilson
159
He was leaving the hall when he was elected bishop of the
African Episcopal Church on the third ballot. But he walked
on. He had gained the bishopric not by his character, not by
his accomplishment and brilliant ideas, but by cash. How much,
he did not know then, and it was not until a month later that
Douglass' bill for $9,678.13 came to his desk. But now all he
knew was that money had been paid for his position and he was
in deathly shame.
He walked so rapidly that the Bishop of Texas had difficulty
in following him. Wild ideas swept through his brain. He was
tempted to turn back and re-enter that hall. He saw himself
mounting the rostrum, facing the delegates, and hurling into their
faces this soiled episcopal robe. He-but here, the Bishop of Texas
overtook him, almost pulled him into his car, brought him home
and made him eat and drink.
Then he talked to him. “My son, you bought the bishopric
and you are ashamed of yourself. So am I. So is your faithful
wife. Others have done the same and aren't a bit ashamed. Do
not despair, son. Our church is not evil. This is not the first
time bishoprics have been bought and sold in Christendom. Aye,
and gotten even by knife and poison. Oh, no! Even today, in
richer and wiser churches than ours-but never mind that.
"In our own church, all places have not always been put up
at auction. But today we're in a jam. We've got things to do,
many things and fast. And they cost money. With money comes
evil. We're too poor to do what the world insists we must do.
We resort to bribery. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you did. I'm more
sorry that the church let you.
"One day, God willing and you and I helping, it will be so
great a crime to sell a vote for the bishopric that none will dare
do it and expect to remain in the church. But I'm glad it's you
and not a lesser man that bought this high office. I do not judge
your wife. Neither must you. Perhaps God told her what must
be done, perhaps it was the Devil; but she did it. I could wish
that, as a humble shepherd in some little Southern town, you could
have served the Master. That was not to be. Instead, you are
now the anointed of the Lord.
“Now you have to learn what this office really means. Hitherto,
my son, you have had but little real belief in religion. You


160
WORLDS OF COLOR
despise dogma and miracles. Church ceremony leaves you cold,
save as emotional experience. I understand all that. All that I,
too, have lived through. But do you understand or try to under-
stand what religion has meant to most of your people? They
found themselves in a world they did not know. Its vicissitudes,
its evil, its irrational compulsions were absolutely incomprehen-
sible. The world seemed ruled by Things. These must be ap-
peased, obeyed, eluded. Before you were born, your fathers, or
perhaps better, your mothers were led to believe that the explana-
tion of this world was not simply a Devil of utter Evil, but also
a loving Father who in his own good time would take his obedient
children up in a chariot of Fiery Death to a world of Happiness.
In the dirt, degradation, toil and license of plantations, under the
fervor of black prophets, this solution of the puzzle of existence
was revealed to them in brief moments of frenzy among a scream-
ing mass of people singing:
'Shout O Children, Shout, you're free!'
“Then a miracle happened. They became free. But they
were not happy. They were hungry and naked, and new preachers
had to build a new church on top of the old. We tried to make
this church a meeting-house where we could have what we lacked
at home-heat, company, food, song. But not only this-there
must be a Meaning. Gradually, that imagined heaven of slavery
days must be brought down to earth, but not too swiftly. Con-
version by miracle, shouting to God in person--the religious orgy
must slowly disappear.
"You proposed to replace it with food and clothes and shelter.
Fine, if you could; only you can't, at least not now. You can't
even teach these children to read what other men have done and
thought, at least not yet. But while we wait, and schools linger,
and people starve-in that little interval of a century or two-
what shall we do, you and I? Birmingham and Annisberg said,
‘Work and Pray!' Dallas said, 'Eat, drink and be merry! You
rried both. Now, the salvation of the Lord has laid bare the way
-the path of blood and evil. Arise, go and do!”
Sojourner was waiting. Long hours she had waited, clothed
in her white nightgown and sitting in their bedrom with her back
to the window and her eyes on the door. The room was dark.
The clock chimed midnight as Roosevelt Wilson entered, and his


Bishop Wilson
161
wife loomed dark against the thin halo of the shining city behind
her. Weary, and with eyes closed she was reciting and had long
been reciting the Fifty-First Psalm:
“Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy loving-
kindness; according to the multitude of Thy tender mercies,
blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from mine
iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my
transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against Thee,
Thee only, have I sinned and done this evil in Thy sight. ...
Hide thy face from my sins and blot out all mine iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit
within me. Cast me not away from Thy presence; and take
not Thy Holy Spirit from me. Deliver me from bloodguilti-
ness, O God, thou God of my salvation, and my tongue shall
sing aloud Thy righteousness.”
Wilson started to approach her but she opened her eyes and
held him back gently, while she sobbed and sang:
“O the Rocks and the Mountains shall all fade away, and
you shall have a new hiding place that day; Sinner, Sinner,
give up your heart to God and you shall have a new hiding
place that day!”
Then the low recitative began again:
"O Lord, open Thou my lips and my mouth jħall show
forth Thy praise, For Thou desirest not sacrifice, else would
I give it; Thou delightest not in burnt offering. The sacri-
fices of God are a broken spirit—"
She swayed in sheer weariness as he folded her close in his arms.


CHAPTER XI
AGAIN WORLD WAR
The Second World War astonished Manuel Mansart. It was
something which could not happen-yet here it was happening.
He had just travelled around the world. He had crossed the
entire United States and if he had thought to have learned one
lesson above all others on his journey, it was that all the world,
and particularly America, wanted peace. Yet, here was war
again and not, in truth, a new war but as was now suddenly clear
to him, the same old struggle for domination of peoples, the same
unjust, cruel and evil program of murder and destruction which
for centuries had been the content of history. All the stirrings
toward this, he had looked on, yet had not seen. Of what use
was reason and effort and his dream?
Suddenly, he felt he wanted to get away. He wanted to go
where he could get closer to the heart of the world, where he
could talk with, question and listen to those who knew. He
would take a trip to New York and there have a long talk with
his son Revels, whose keen mind seemed to see clearly where his
own groped.
First, there was the trip itself to consider. The black man
in the South avoids the rail-trains when he can, for there he
encounters color discrimination at its crudest. Usually, Mansart
rode in his own motorcar, driving himself or with a student as
chauffeur. But on a long trip such as this, he would have to
take a fast train and have a pullman berth. This was possible
in the case of a prominent Negro like Mansart, especially one
who was directing the spending of large sums of money, much
of it going to the railroads for passengers and freight. But the
task of procuring tickets and reservations meant going through
a certain mumbo-jumbo in deference to racial etiquette. He
would phone: “May I speak to the passenger manager? This is
President Mansart of the Colored State College. ... But this is
urgent. . . . I must go on the noon train tomorrow.” The clerk
162


Again World War
163
was abrupt. "He would see" and he hung up. Mansart then
got the manager of freight traffic on the line and reminded him
that the college had just paid a bill of over a thousand dollars.
He must have that reservation tomorrow, and his voice was a
shade more brusque than usual. He got the tickets that after-
noon. He would have to take "lower one” berth at the end of
the pullman, and change at Atlanta for the fast through train.
There, only a drawingroom was available at three and a half
times the regular fare. Mansart took it. The colored porters
were courteous; they all knew Mansart and he knew most of them.
He transferred to his drawing room at Atlanta and settled down
to rest. He did not attempt to go to the dining room-it would be
full of white folk and it would be difficult to curtain off an
alcove for "colored passengers," as the law required. That meant
a long and humiliating wait. He would have his lunch served
in his drawing room. He knew it would be late, for the white
dining-car steward would wait until most of the whites had
finished eating before he would send a waiter forward with a
tray. So Mansart, settling himself comfortably on his pillows
and staring out at the flying, changing landscape, began to collect
and marshall his thoughts and attempt to think through this new
and, to him, unexpected war aspect of the world in which he lived
-England and her colored colonial empire, France with south
Asia and north Africa, the United States and China, Japan, the
West Indies and Central and South America. Then he came back
to the United States, to his own people—where did they belong
in this new phantasmagoria?
The waiter now brought his lunch and was solicitous in serving
it. Mansart enjoyed it, then settled back again to rest and stare
out on the darkening landscape. The world swept by-the dark
loafers at the stations-the white girls in the factories-the burdened
wagons staggering along dusty roads. Then, suddenly, with star-
tling clearness, out there in the night he seemed to see a great green
Spider nesting in Hell, weaving an impenetrable Web. It sat in
a pool of blood, which had gushed down from China, flowed in
from Spain and seeped through from Mississippi. The Spider
seemed to be spinning out thin tendrils of American gold, linking
strand to strand. To the drying, stinking mess, the Spider added
clods of British dirt and moistened all with the slime of France,


164
WORLDS OF COLOR
until the spreading Web grew wide as the Earth and high as
Heaven. It was too horrible. It seemed to divide the Darkness
from the Light and the White World fought the Dark World
and both faced Death.
Here, the porter shook Mansart gently and suggested he make
up his berth so that he could sleep more easily. Mansart slept
soundly the rest of the night and next day breakfasted with his
son Judge Revels Mansart and his wife, sitting on Washington
Heights opposite the Jersey Palisades.
“Frankly, Father, I am especially glad you are here, and in the
normal course of your work and not by special invitation. I
wanted to invite you but hesitated lest I get you into a situation
that would be unwise for you even to seem to be a part of,
since war has again gripped the world. As it is, you have come
without premeditation or invitation.”
"Well, I'm glad I'm here. I like to come to New York, although
I can't say just why. I feel nearer the center of things, and that
is necessary today.”
“That is in a sense true, at any rate after London and Paris.
Perhaps in another decade-but as I was saying. There is going
to be a meeting in New York of a peculiar character. I really
know little about it. It was arranged by my Royal Arch chapter
of the Colored Masons. It is not a Masonic function, but the
Masons were probably asked to help because of their international
affiliations, especially among the colorcd peoples. Hence the appeal
to colored Masons, who are just now receiving unexpected recog-
nition from the American whites."
"Frankly, I know little of the colored fraternities. The Odd
Fellows in Atlanta have attracted me but only because of their
insurance and real estate efforts.”
"Well, away back in 1775, the British Army in Boston initiated
15 Negro Masons. The Grand Lodge of England set them up as
a lodge and later they themselves organized a Grand Lodge. Now
there are 35 Negro Grand Lodges with 150,000 members and
14,000 in the Royal Arch. This Negro American Masonry today
is recognized the world over. One of the high echelons of this
organization was recently approached to assist in providing a
meeting place for a group of colored leaders. As I say, I know
little of this meeting. But at the request of friends, I have under-


Again World War
165
taken local arrangements. I have confidence in the character and
objects of those who are convening this conference. You know
I don't go in much for meetings and not at all for Negro organ-
izations. But I believe this is important and timely, especially
since the world for a second time in a generation has gone to war.”
Quite unexpectedly to Mansart, the conference took place high
up on the northern end of Manhattan Island at the Cloisters-
that magnificent collection of works of French medieval art as.
sembled by George Barnard and given by the Rockefellers to
the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As a member of the Museum
Board of Directors, and through other influence which the Judge
had brought to bear, there was to be held in one of the chambers
of the Cloisters, closed and especially set aside for that purpose,
a meeting of about one hundred delegates representing the Colored
Peoples of the world, “to take council as to their situation in this
war and in its aftermath.” This was all that Judge Revels had
to say and his father inquired no further.
The delegates gathered quietly at noon. Lists of names were
distributed to each member, which were to be returned upon
adjournment. About twenty-three groups were represented. Some,
like Africa, India and China, each had four delegates; South Amer-
ica and Japan each had three; American Negroes had two delegates;
some seven other groups had one each. Each delegate was identi-
fied by a number which he wore on a medal conspicuously dis-
played on his breast. One alone among all wore no number. He
presided, sitting rather back in the shadows. He was small and
thin and white turbanned. His eyes were caverns of gloom. His
voice was low, clear and beautiful. Opening the session without
ceremony, he said:
“There has come upon the world a Day of Doom, the most
momentous since Mohammed's flight to Medina 1,320 years ago;
or comparable to like dates in the history of other faiths. A
World War has been unleashed which will cost the lives of twenty-
five million human beings, mostly youth whence our world gets
its strength and dreams. It will maim and wound and drive
insane or weaken with disease fifty million more men, women and
children. And it will cost one billion billion dollars. Its weapons
will be horrible. We will rip from the bowels of Hell weapons
deadly enough to wipe life from earth and I am told these


166
WORLDS OF COLOR
scourges will first be tried out upon us,the Dark World. What
shall we do? What can we do?
"In the world's childhood, we used to blame God for such
catastrophes, and then excuse Him by attributing them to some
inexplicable purpose of His, which He did not reveal. During
the youth of science, despite our inability to prove this, we tried
to account for human action as the result of mechanical law.
Now, as we approach, albeit all too slowly, scientific maturity
we admit wide ignorance of the real nexus between cause and
effect, but we work slowly and waveringly forward by use of scien-
tific hypothesis, probing, changing and rejecting, by incessant test-
ing of facts until bit by bit truth emerges. Our greatest and most
useful hypothesis is that the conscious action of human beings
can change human history. Still clinging to this hope and con-
viction, we approach this new crisis of mankind to inquire what
action caused it, what action can cure it.
“First we will listen to a condensation of the most important
of the voluminous and complete documentary reports deposited
with us. We may foretell that Britain will free India within a
decade; the United States will seek to reduce China to colonial
status; black men will save Africa from Hitler, but Britain and
France will try to keep her chained. Japan will free us from
Europe but try to keep us in slavery to herself; South America will
long lie divided and prostrate under Europe and the United States.
“The documents relating to these matters and to a score of
others will be given you as you depart. We will separate in small
groups and during the next weeks meet elsewhere in smaller
gatherings. Meantime, in farewell, watch and wait: Remember
that Hitler's most dangerous gift will be not war, but the Big Lie-
making truth inaccessible by the monopoly of communication.
Against this we must set the promise of the Soviet Union never
to hold colonies, nor to join with colonial imperialism, and to
outlaw every vestige of color and race discrimination within its
borders. Finally, it should be our bounden duty to seek Peace
through Non-resistance. This, as I firmly believe, is our only path.
Go, with God!"
Mansart found himself leaving with his son and a young
Japanese. He began to ask questions and the Japanese said, "I
am a Nisei, an American citizen of Japanese descent. You wonder


Again World War
167
why I am here. Few know just what we Japanese, born in the
United States, have suffered and what suffering is planned. We
have well-developed industry, land for raising and selling fresh
vegetables. Our competitors will make this war an excuse for
seizing our property and even imprisoning us in concentration
camps. Our material losses will reach millions. Our souls may
be wounded beyond repair.”
On the ride home, Mansart talked with Revels.
“My son, this meeting may have been a Communist plot!"
"That is possible."
"We know the real names of none and certainly not of that
remarkable man who presided, and whose prophecies seem pre-
posterous. I think I recognized him, although I may be wrong.
He is either Mahatma Gandhi, or much like him physically and
spiritually."
"Gandhi? It couldn't be. He has never visited the United
States."
“No; once he planned to when he was in England a few years
ago, but his American friends, like John Haynes Holmes, advised
against it. They said that a little ugly brown man, dressed in a
loin-cloth, who had fraternized with African blacks, would be in-
sulted and despised in the United States. For that reason, he
gave up the idea. But it may be possible that today he has come
incognito, for the simple reason that colored folk are not 'news'
in New York and colored visitors attract little publicity.”
"Extraordinary, if true. But surely, the catastrophes he fore-
tells cannot come to pass. I do not believe we will enter this
world war."
“I do not know. Germany is moving on Western Europe in
force. France and Belgium have succumbed and Britain has
scurried home from Dunkirk. Roosevelt thinks that the defense
of Britain is an even greater duty than the development of the
welfare state in America.”
“But may not this whole thing be subversive and dangerous?"
“It may be. But on the other hand, it may not be and may
prove of the utmost urgency. If so, it had to be secret and this
very fact warns us. The Colored World, Father, may be face
to face with new dangers of oppression and of utter subordination.
If so, we must know it and act. There was in this meeting a


168
WORLDS OF COLOR
note of sincerity and authority. I know personally many of its
promoters and sympathizers. My belief is not easily won. I am
by nature cynical and suspicious. If I had not believed in this
movement, I would have had no part in it. This is the reason
I helped it take place. I shall do nothing further without more
knowledge than I now have. But-I shall watch and wait.”
And then Judge Mansart added to himself: “It is quite pos-
sible that this meeting, held so secretly, is already well known
and reported to those in America who are in the seats of power."
This was true. Certain Negro Americans had brought circum-
stantial reports to Wall Street where, in the Morgan bank, a com-
mittee had for some time been in continuous session. The mem-
bers represented most of the chief international cartels which con-
trolled the production and distribution of goods the world over.
There were British industrialists and bankers, French business men
of the type which originated the cartel idea, German army officers
and representatives of Krupp and Thyssen; the Japanese ambas-
sador was there and, of course, the chief heads of American cor-
porations in steel, oil, food, fibers and power production.
They were all not only well-bred gentlemen but consultants
of a peculiar sort. They not only must confer frankly and with-
out losing their tempers on matters over which they were in seri-
ous disagreement, but they must reach some degree of agreement;
else, as one put it, “Socialism will sweep the world and private
capitalistic enterprise will disappear."
They were discussing the new war beginning in Europe. The
reports on the secret meeting of the colored folk were reassuring.
There was as yet no conspiracy and the mirage of peace and non-
violence still guided them.
“In the long run, the darkies are right," said an Englishman.
“But we must be sure that the present run is not long but short
and quick.”
As the hosts, the Americans set down their demands first. "Amer-
ica must enter no world war until our profits are high and certain
and there is nothing left for government financing of industry.
We cannot be asked to restore the former British monopoly of
world trade and finance. America must share. We oppose so-
cialism in Britain, western Europe and particularly its extreme
form in Russia and the Balkans. We will cooperate with Japan


Again World War
169
in reducing China to complete exploitation provided, of course,
we receive our rightful area of participation."
The British made notes and consulted and then laid down their
demands. They were holding in leash a mild British socialism
but would oppose any further push toward socialism in Europe
or America, and particularly in Russia and southeast Europe. They
demanded preservation of the hard-won British trade opportunity
and financial guidance in Asia, Africa and South America with
reasonable exchange of advantages with Germany, France and
America. As to Japan, they would recognize her productive power
but could not admit her to British markets without due and re-
ciprocal action on her part.
The Germans were definite and firm. “We have become since
recovery from war and depression, one of the most efficient pro-
ducing nations of the world. We need raw materials and markets.
This is largely denied us in a world dominated by British, French
and American capital. We demand entrance on reasonable terms.
As to socialism, we dominate it at home and will completely put
it at the service of private capital in Russia and the Balkans within
a few weeks. We are ready to support Japan in its demands for
trade in Asia similar to ours in Europe.”
A small core committee reported after lunch. “There is one
area of complete agreement, several areas of partial agreement
which can be adjusted, and one matter still requiring debate and
serious decision. We all agree that Russia must be eliminated
from modern civilization, and Socialism everywhere strictly curbed.
There is a different question that remains to be studied and re-
solved, touching the division of production, trade and finance
in the world between Britain, France, Germany and the United
States. We feel, however, that this can be worked out.
"A more serious problem is connected with Japan. Europe
cannot consent to be supplanted by Japan in Asia, nor to let Japan
flood Europe with cheap goods. This question must be explored
and perhaps an equitable basis of division of capital, land, and
labor control can be arrived at. But because of the fundamental
question of the equality of the yellow and white races, the time
for agreement may be unduly prolonged.
“Meantime, certain delegates have put forward a startling pro-
posal, which we lay before you. In the United States there is a


170
WORLDS OF COLOR
hard core of opposition to war as such. It is due to an Asiatic
philosophy of submission brought in by Jews and to the same doc-
trine of peace and non-violence which the current colored con-
ference adheres to. Supporting this thesis are the socialists, the
liberals, and the New Dealers. All this may make it difficult if
not impossible to get America to go to war.
“On the other hand, those whom we represent must have war.
War alone will insure our present profits and bring greater profits
and power in the future. If, of course, there could be progress
without war, we could consider peace. History has proven that
impossible. By war alone can socialism finally be conquered. Now
by curious contradiction, Roosevelt, champion of the welfare state
as outlined by the socialist, Harry Hopkins, wants war, because
only by war can he retard or stop the fall of the British Empire.
All we need then, is by a strike of capital to hold off war until
Roosevelt is defeated. He must of course be put out of office by the
vote of the people next November. Once Roosevelt is defeated,
we will move in and enter the World War on our own
terms and for our own objects. This will mean the end of the
New Deal and alliance with Germany to wipe Communism from
the face of the earth. It will mean cooperation with Britain for
the halting of socialism in Europe and the restoration of co-
lonialism in Asia and Africa. This is clear. But we must face
facts-Roosevelt might win a third term. His hold on the American
public is strong. In case then, and against all probabilities, he
does win, what then? Over this point, we argued long until a
brilliant proposal came to us from Japan." The speaker paused
and wiped his forehead. Then he continued: “Japan proposes,
if Roosevelt wins, to attack the United States suddenly and without
warning."
There was a gasp and silence. The Japanese ambassador rose
unsteadily to his feet, but the little unobtrusive colleague beside him
growled an order and the ambassador sat down. A Frenchman
asked: “What would be the effect of such an extraordinary move?"
The chairman of the executive committee continued: “The
proposal when first made startled us. But listen to its logic. On
one matter alone today can American opinion be stampeded and
that is race and color. On that matter there is a national unanimity
unequalled on any other. There is wide difference of opinion on


Again World War
171
e stateerican using hat R
the allowable extent of the government in business, on private
profit and the welfare state. Socialism is gaining but it is far from
being in majority. American attitude toward England varies,
but there is no enthusiasm for using our strength to restore the
British Empire. Americans believe that Russian Communism is
bound to fail, but there is no unanimity on being willing to make
this happen by force. Even in matters of race, there is less dog-
matism today than 75 years ago. Still, an attack on white America
by yellow Japan would unite the nation like a giant catalyst.
War would be declared the next day. Moreover, it would be war
for one object alone, to conquer Asia which is our object. It
could not be a Roosevelt war to restore to world power a socialist
Britain, but it would be a war lo restore the British Empire of
Victoria, with the United States in close partnership, and to smash
Russia completely."
"But what would become of Japan. Would she not face an-
nihilation by America?”
"Only if we permitted it. Japan is ready to take our word
that in the end she will gain equality with Europe, and co-rulership
in Asia!"
The small unobtrusive Japanese sitting beside the Japanese
ambassador now arose and introduced himself as the direct emis-
sary of the Imperial Rule Assistance Association, which was now in
supreme power in Japan. In excellent English, he reaffirmed the
promise of war on America.
"But,” stammered a British merchant, “what might not such
an act start in world reaction?"
A German general spoke up crisply: “It could start nothing
which German military might united to Japanese versatility could
not turn to the advantage of this body. Before the Japanese-
American War was well started, Hitler will have conquered Russia
and be facing the West with invincible force. We guarantee here
and now the integrity and survival of Japan as a recognized great
world power. And we have already made offensive and defensive
alliance with her."
The discussion lasted long toward twilight. But in the end there
was substantial agreement. This was in case Roosevelt won a
third term):
1. To ask Japan to attack the U.S.A. without warning.


172
WORLDS OF COLOR
2. It was guaranteed that when Russia was conquered, Germany,
Britain and France would protect Japan from injury and grant her
necessary access to world trade.
3. When the U.S.A. declared war, British industry and finance,
with the cooperation of American business interests, would see to
it that the U.S.A. did not attack Germany or help Russia.
4. After the war, France and Italy as well as Germany were to
be recognized as co-partners with Britain and the U.S.A. as leading
directors of world trade, industry and finance.
The November election came and Franklin Roosevelt was chosen
president of the United States for a third term. Judge Mansart ex-
ulted and a week later arranged for a small group to meet at his
home. Jack and Betty Carmichael came down from Spring-
field and brought Jackie. He met young Revels for the first time
and together they went to see Jackie Robinson play ball. Sally
Haynes, the young white social worker, was there. She had been in
Europe on vacation and managed to get out the August before, as
war was declared. Betty and Sally had many notes to compare and
Jack and the Judge's wife talked over his experiences in Springfield.
The Judge marked time by silent attention for he expected another
guest. It was late when Hopkins finally came. He talked frankly
and was enthusiastic about the recent election of 1940. He said:
"The people of the United States have given Franklin Roose-
velt, by a vote of 27 million to 22 million, an election to an un-
precedented third term in office, thus confirming a mandate for
him to proceed toward the establishment of a welfare state leading
to as complete a realization of socialism as satisfies the nation. It
was decided that an intelligent nation used to free democratic
methods of government could thus achieve socialisin without revo-
lution or dictatorship. Some countries, like Russia, oppressed for
centuries by serfdom, ignorance, disease and priestcraft, could bring
uplift only by force and violence, especially if opposed by a world
in arms. But intelligent Ainerica has a better way.”
“But,” asked Judge Mansart, “isn't this change to war which
Roosevelt wants, a sudden and a serious turning from social reform
in the United States to pulling out of the fire the chestnuts of
Britain and France?"
"I know what you mean and at first I was inclined to shrink
from the war in Europe and insist on sticking to our muttons right


Again World War
173
here. But there were two mighty objections: first, the deep-seated
belief of FDR, my friend, that England is the prime example of
modern freedom and democracy; and that if ever we achieve so-
cialism by democracy, Britain must lead; and second, the increas-
ingly clear fact that in a world dominated by Hitler and Mussolini,
joined openly by Japan, there can be no freedom, democracy or
socialism for America or any other land.”
The Judge smiled and remarked: “Some of us, Mr. Hopkins,
expected that you might be a candidate in the last election.”
Hopkins was frank. "For a time I thought so, too; and FDR
promised me his support. But just as soon as it was clear that he
could be persuaded to run, I withdrew. Of course, he was the only
logical candidate. Now, my only fear is for his health. These next
four years may kill him.”
Sally Haynes said: "My fear is that this awful war will not only
divert Roosevelt from developing socialism in the United States,
but also to the support of colonialism in the rest of the world.”
“And just here,” said Judge Mansart, "I was depending on
Japan. I thought she was leading the way to drive Europe out of
Asia.”
“That's just what she is attempting," answered Hopkins, “and
in so doing, she started the Second World War back in 1931. After
the crash of our stock market and the collapse of European capital.
ism, Japan started to invade China. But not for socialism; not for
the plans of the dead Sun Yat Sen in China. No, but for a Japanese
capitalism exploiting the millions of Asiatic workers.”
"Perhaps that was the key to the Chinese situation which father
missed in 1936,” said Revels, “and yet, yet-".
“Remember that Hitler became chancellor in 1933, just after
Japan had attacked Shanghai. The very next year, Italy seized
Ethiopia with the tacit assent of Britain and France. Then Hitler
and Mussolini joined Franco to kill socialism in Spain and keep
it out of Africa. The European Axis thus was aimed not simply
at the West but at the Balkans and the Middle East. In the far
East, Japan further penetrated Asia and joined the European
Axis.”
“But,” said Hopkins, "there are curious complications. Ameri-
can Big Finance does not want us to enter this war on the side
of the British Empire. It wants to supersede Britain as master of


174
WORLDS OF COLOR
the Eastern world and, because of this, favors Germany. Our
present business connections with Germany are colossal-artificial
rubber, chemicals, dyes and steel are all tied in with the Reich.
All that FDR could achieve until 1939 was neutrality. Roosevelt
believed in England even more than I do. He feared the fall of the
British Empire, and to him Britain was civilization. I and others
doubted.
“A successful welfare state for our masses would be better than
a realm on which the sun never sets in peace. But my personal
loyalty to a friend prevailed over loyalty to an idea. Moreover,
I see a vision. There is a chance that the American welfare state may
combine with a socialized Britain and a Communist Russia to beat
back the dictators who claimed the earth for European colonialism
and for the profit of American Big Business. The difficulty here is
that Big Business in the United States and Britain are both bitterly
opposed to a welfare state, and are openly and secretly bound to
colonial imperialism even to the extent of Airting with Japan. 'They
had vowed war to the death against any success for the Russian
Revolution. This is the paradox of 1940.”
Harry Hopkins leaned back and reaching his glass for more
beer said:
“Here's something else. Einstein, the great physicist who has
just come to Princeton, has written Roosevelt. He warns him that
Hitler is working on a secret weapon and urges us to start work on
atomic power. This may be why the Germans have not yet closed
in on England with full force.”
“There's another matter," said Sally. "I was in Europe last
Fall. I heard that Britain, France and the United States as well as
Germany were sounding out the Russian leaders. They wanted
investment concessions in Russia or at least no opposition to capital
in the Balkans. In return, they offer alliances of various sorts and
kinds."
“Further than that," asserted Hopkins, “Japan is sending a
plenipotentiary to us offering deals to Big Business, and Business
is approachable. On the side, he's talking peace and cooperation
to Secretary Hull. I have a feeling that if Business is not able to
deliver, Japan may attempt open force. Well, I must go.”
None can say how far Franklin Roosevelt would have gone in
reorganizing the economy of the nation iſ the work of the first


Again World War
175
eight years of his reign had continued and expanded. We might
now live in a different world. But war intervened and once again,
as so often in the past, ruined the future of mankind.
On the strength of his third triumphant victory, in 1940, Roose.
velt forced the nation towards war by gift and agreement, by lend.
lease, annexation and warships. He took Republicans into his
cabinet, got millions appropriated for defense, and with Churchill
he drafted the Atlantic Charter on old and nearly forgotten terms
of no new territorial annexations, self-government, free trade, free
travel, better labor conditions and world government.
Big Business conspired to wring every ounce of profit from the
economy. It continued its alliance with the German cartels in rub-
ber, aluminum and steel. Even when material was furnished, the
prices and conditions were impossible. Owners of copper mines like
those managed by Barney Baruch made extravagant profits; a bil-
lion dollars were spent on airplanes before a single one was
delivered. Steel plate costing $318 a ton was sold to the government
for $400 to $600 a ton. The government spent over $100,000,000,000
for nitrates but got none before the Armistice. Four hundred mil-
lion dollars were spent on contracts for shells which never reached
the firing line. Shipping lines sold ships to the government for
$2,000,000 each and later bought them back for $300,000.
President Mansart often wished, in the ensuing five years, that
he could have spent more time in New York, to learn more of just
what was going on in the world. It was literally years before he
realized that Hitler had murdered six million Jews in Germany,
that it had really begun back in 1983 and continued even while
he was listening to Wagner in Bayreuth and talking to the old
Rabbi in Berlin. He had been told this but could not realize it-
how could such a horrible thing happen in the civilized world amid
such indifference and such silence!
In Atlanta, the news was scarce and contradictory. France fell
and Belgium gave up. There was the tragedy at Dunkirk-but why?
Neither the United States nor Britain seemed to want alliance with
Russia, and suddenly Germany did. It was a long time before
Mansart understood that Hitler had outbid the West by offering
the Soviets the eastern part of Poland in return for the certainty
of not being attacked in the rear when he started on his Western
foray. The West offered the Soviets assistance only if the Soviets


176
WORLDS OF COLOR
gave up Socialism, at least in part. Even in such case, their offer
was guarded. So Hitler won the gamble and marched West. Mansart
heard indistinct reports of the terrible bombing of Britain from
July to December.
In 1941, in June, Mansart learned to his dismay that Germany
had invaded Russia. This sudden change of policy seemed to him
inexplicable. He could not believe that this reversal on the part
of Germany was simply because British airmen were fighting back
more fiercely. When a strong man meets resistance he does not
usually turn his back. There was something unexplained.
Western Europe, however, began to breathe more freely. It
hoped that Hitler would leave it in peace while he attacked Rus-
sia. For this they were willing to give up the League of Nations,
yield Manchuria to Japan, let Germany re-arm and take Austria,
Czechoslovakia and the Rhineland, give Ethiopia to Italy and Spain
to France. Our own ambassador said, “It would be the wish of the
democratic countries that armed conflict would break out in the
East between the German Reich and Russia. ... Germany would
be obliged to wage a long and weakening war." The Diary of our
representative in Berlin said that “Britain, the Nazis and Bullitt
favored dividing the world, with Germany dominating all of
Europe. Japan was to control Asia.” Then like a clap of thunder,
came Pearl Harbor!
The United States had stubbornly stayed out of actual war
until, with unbelievable effrontery, Japan attacked the United
States. Japan was colored. The United States had browbeaten her,
cajoled her, insulted her, admired her, but refused her recognition
as an equal, and induced Great Britain to withdraw her first step
toward such recognition. But these little brown men had persisted,
had built a mighty empire and demanded partnership with the
white world. Japan's military might and her marvellous expanding
industry was making her a feared rival of white imperialism in
Yellow Asia. Finally, Japan made alliance with Germany and Italy.
Withdrawing from a plan of war she signed a non-aggression pact
with the Soviet Union, and, during peace negotiations with the
U.S., she destroyed our sea power in Hawaii. This made war not
only possible but imperative, backed by American color prejudice.
Japan was aware of the chink in American armor. Mansart be-
fore the war had met Yasuichi Hikida. This well trained young


Again World War
177
Japanese had visited Negro schools, translated books on the Negro
problem into Japanese, and made friends with colored people all
over the nation. He did nothing subversive in act, and he tried
to convince Negroes that the Japanese people sympathized with
their struggle against race prejudice, indeed that the Japanese were
fellow sufferers.
Later, Judge Mansart made the acquaintance of an American
white man who had married a colored woman in New York and,
with funds which probably came from abroad, purchased two of
the oldest American magazines, the Living Age and the North
American Review. Whether this effort was Japanese or German,
Judge Mansart never knew. Personally, he had no part in it. But
he never forgot Japanese hospitality to his father at the time when
he had no dream of war.
Meantime, Japan talked earnestly for peace and friendship be-
tween these two nations, for future profits and future exchange
of culture, and talked all the more persuasively because their envoy,
Kurusu, believed what he said and had no ulterior motives. But
the Japanese military junta achieved complete control of Japan in
1941. By secret division of the world cartels, it became the role of
colored Japan to divert American power from helping Britain,
while the Nordic supremacist Hitler, holding his hand from giving
Britain the coup de grâce with the help of the coming Secret
Weapon, was to turn suddenly and annex the Soviet Union to
Greater Germany.
What really happened at Pearl Harbor December 7, 1941, none
will ever know completely. There was and is grave suspicion of
treachery or treason. Roosevelt himself was accused by Congress
but absolved after his death. Here was a great military establish.
ment equipped at vast cost to make the nation secure. Here lay 86
American warships with marines and officers alert in a world already
at war. Yet, when 100 Japanese airplanes flew out of that December
morning with attendant submarines, there was neither warning
nor planned resistance. Everybody seemed elaborately doing noth-
ing-dressing, parading and saluting. The timid report by a private
who thought he heard planes was brushed aside. To this day, the
gold-braided admirals dispute as to what each did or ought to have
done. One black man, Dorie Miller, a messboy on the Arizona,
who could join the American navy only as a menial, put up a real


178
WORLDS OF COLOR
fight. Seizing a machine gun in the use of which he had received
no training, he shot down four Japanese planes. But the Japanese
on that fatal day shot down 177 American planes, destroyed ten
warships, damaged eight others, and left nearly five thousand Amer-
ican boys dead, wounded and missing.
Japan was on the warpath-she struck at Indo-China, the Philip-
pines, Singapore, Hong Kong, the Islands of the Pacific. She
stretched her empire thousands of miles in three months.
Siam fell, then Guam, then Wake Island. 'The Philippines gave
up in May, with MacArthur running away. By this time the
Japanese had spread over Malaya and had sunk iwo British battle-
ships. They captured the Dutch East Indies with its oil and rubber,
then took Rangoon, the capital of Burma, and Mandalay. By
February, 1942, the Japanese flag had swept over 6,000 miles from
the Aleutians to Australia. It was the greatest uprising of Asia since
Genghis Khan.
In Macon, President Mansart and Jean Du Bignon discussed
these utterly unexpected developments. They went back and tried
to piece together events which had happened two and three years
before and which only now revealed their real significance. Jean
emphasized the role of Italy.
“Look at northeast Africa. Here, Italy was promised her colonial
empire in the Treaty of London, which tempted Italy into the
First World War. This Clemenceau and Lloyd George repudiated
and Italy never forgave them. In 1934, when Hitler had the West
backed against the wall, Italy seized her chance and her pound of
Alesh was Ethiopia. The League of Nations threw Ethiopia to the
dogs, despite the moving appeal of her exiled emperor. Then in
1940 Italy made alliance with Hitler and began the movement east-
ward toward Egypt, the Suez Canal, Greece, the Balkans and the
Middle East. Beyond lay the British empire in Asia. By October,
Italy was on the march.”
Meantime, down in the French province of Chad, 2,500 miles
due south of Alexandria, which Graziani was about to seize, there
was a black French governor, Eboué. He decided to support the
Free French, and not Vichy. From his four open harbors on the
Atlantic, he could import American war material and on 150
planes a day send it to North Africa. On nearly 2,000 miles of stone-
surfaced roads, rubber, tin, lead and zinc, with cotton, coffee, cocoa,


Again World War
179
palm oil and wood could roll North to the British soldiers gather-
ing to hold and redeem the highway to Asia. Behind these supplies
marched thousands of black troops.
By January, 1941, the tide began to turn. British Somaliland
and Eritrea were recaptured and Haile Selassie returned to Ethi-
opia. Rommel with his German Afrika Corps rushed to the rescue.
The British were pushed back, but black Ethiopia and black
Eboué reinforced British Montgomery and at Alemein, in October,
1942, the Axis armies fied west and met the British-American in-
vasion.
"That movement of ours to North Africa, instead of against
the bare back of Hitler, has always puzzled me,” said Mansart.
"Elementary, my dear Watson,” said Jean, with an apology for
her impudence, “don't you see, Churchill, the Machiavelli of Lon-
don, wanted first to save the empire which he did not propose to
liquidate. He wanted to make sure of that empire after Hitler and
Stalin had destroyed each other. He proposed then to waste no
time helping to stop what he regarded as the inevitable collapse
of Russian Communism and the equally certain fall of Nazi im-
perialist colonialism. Back of him, American Big Business was ready
to leave all to Churchill's fine Italian hand to convince his friend
Roosevelt that both were framing an Atlantic Charter based on
Four Freedoms. This, Roosevelt sincerely believed. What Churchill
really believed, he wasn't saying!"
In Europe, Hitler's plans seemed perfect. From June to Octo-
ber, his armies captured six great cities and surrounded Leningrad.
He announced that Russia was crushed. But the cold came down
from the Arctic, the worst in one hundred fifty years, and 200,000
Germans died trying to reach Moscow-which they never entered.
They whirled south to the Caspian Sea and surrounded Stalingrad
in August, 1942. Here, gradually, the steel hand of the Russians
slowly closed until in January, 1943, Hitler had lost his great
gamble—the Soviet Union remained unconquered.
It was a fearful victory. The Germans destroyed 72,000 towns
and villages, leaving 25,000,000 people homeless. They demolished
32,000 industries; they tore up 40,000 miles of railroads with sta-
tions, telegraph and telephone offices; they destroyed 40,000 hos-
pitals, 84,000 schools and 44,000 libraries; they ransacked 100,000
farms and drove off 70 million head of horses, cattle sheep and


180
WORLDS OF COLOR
goats. Their damage to state industrial enterprises has been esti-
mated at $128 billion. Sixty-one of the greatest power stations were
blown up. Coal mines and oil wells were destroyed. Public build-
ings, museums and churches were ruined. The Soviet Union lost
seven million of its people in war, and perhaps as many more in
civilian life. The British Empire lost a million persons and the
U.S.A. about the same. The Germans lost at least ten million. The
war cost the Soviet Union $200,000,000,000. The U.S.A. gave her
in net Lend-lease about five percent of this sum. Never before in
the history of man had a single nation sacrificed so much for the
salvation of the world.
Jean noted with some apprehension that President Mansart was
giving more time and thought to the war than to the college. But
of course, she herself was tremendously interested in the great drama
unfolding abroad. Both she and the President were thrilled by the
incredible march of Japan-a colored people was challenging the
most powerful nations on earth. Mansart watched in fascination.
He knew how Japan hated white folk--for the same reasons which
made Mansart himself still shrink from them when he forgot his
broader principles.
He watched Japan in that fateful year of 1942 in amazement
and apprehension-the Great East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere. He
tried to show nothing in his countenance. But he and Jean alone
in the office, could not restrain a certain exaltation as they wit-
nessed the amazing uprising of Asia against Europe to oust the
European masters.
It was some time before President Mansart seemed suddenly to
become aware that once again American Negroes were going to
war.
“And what are they going to fight for?” he asked in despair.
Of course, they were going to meet discrimination. Possibly they
were going to be more integrated into the army and navy than they
were in the First World War. This proved true. After some pre-
liminary hesitation, discrimination was abolished from the officers'
training camps. Even in Georgia, Negro officers were trained. At
first a few, but at last at the rate of several hundred a month.
Still, why were Negroes fighting?
The teachers of State College discussed this matter and although
careful, the bitterness spilled over.


Again World War
181
"Well, here we go again-fighting nobody for nothing."
“For the British Empire!"
"And what has that empire done for us?”
“It stopped the slave trade which it started—when the trade
ceased to pay. It emancipated slaves when Toussaint made slavery
too dangerous. It changed chattel to wage slavery."
"It stands for democracy!”
"For whites only-never for the blacks and browns and yellows
who form most of its realm.”
“It may free India after this war.”
"It will if it must-not otherwise.”
“War will stop our welfare state and increase the power of
wealth.”
"Unless we can depend on Russia to beat Hitler.”
“A broken reed!”
"So Napoleon thought.”
Then, rather suddenly, there was an unexpected opportunity
for Negroes to voice their boiling inward revolt. The role of gov-
ernment in industry had widened during the Depression. There
was a chance that it would permanently become much wider. Yet,
Negroes were discriminated against openly, even in government
contracts. There were, in 1941, over a million Negroes unemployed.
They began to ask for the opportunity to work, especially in war
industry.
Philip Randolph, a colored Socialist who had been hounded
and imprisoned and finally lured to trade unionism, had organized
the Pullman porters into a union and was fighting for its recogni-
tion in the American Federation of Labor. He now dared to de
mand of President Roosevelt that in the new war industry Negroes
be accepted on equal terms with whites. Randolph declared that
unless the President yielded, he was going to organize a black
army of 50,000 black agitators to “march on Washington.” The
Negro race all over the country was aroused and began to prepare
for the march. Some Negroes and many white friends protested.
They saw this was no way to get concessions.
But down in Macon, Jean was pleased. She said, “You know,
President Mansart, Randolph has chosen a strategic time. Here,
the United States is on the brink of entering the Second World
War on a large scale. They must have a united country behind


182
WORLDS OF COLOR
them. Many Americans oppose the war. The loyalty of Negroes
means more today than it did even in the First World War, and in
the First World War it was indispensable. I have an idea that we
are going to see some yielding on this matter.”
Mansart was skeptical. "We are, after all, only a small part of
the nation and smaller than our numbers when it comes to education
and wealth. We are in no position to demand.”
But Jean tossed her head. “We are in no position not to de-
mand,” she said.
Roosevelt was thus faced, in 1941, by realization of the fact that
12 million American citizens, an increasing number of whom could
vote, might be led into opposition to his program and party.
Moreover, as Hopkins pointed out, the demand for equal treat-
ment in government-controlled industry was absolutely fair. Since,
however, Roosevelt did not dare ask Congress for a law compelling
the admission of Negroes to war industry, he induced his friends
to discourage immediate pressure.
Mrs. Roosevelt, Mayor LaGuardia in New York, and others
tried to allay unrest and persuade Negroes to wait. But prepara-
tions for the march went on. Headquarters were opened in New
York and in other cities. Monies were raised. The date for the
march was set for July 1. On June 28, the President called Randolph
and a number of other Negro leaders to Washington. He met them,
along with several Cabinet heads and members of the Office of
Production Management. They discussed the situation earnestly.
Finally the President, knowing that he could not get action from
Congress and realizing that the Negroes would not yield, offered
to issue Executive Order 8802 to insure “full participation in the
national defense program by all citizens of the United States regard-
less of race, creed, color or national origin.”
A commission to enforce this order was appointed, including
two Negroes and, as chairman, the white principal of the Negro
Hampton Institute. Randolph and his friends called off the March
on Washington. Thus American Negroes won one of their greatest
victories since Emancipation. And Franklin Roosevelt in this way
secured the almost complete backing of American Negroes for him
and the Democratic Party. This was even more impotrant than
equal distribution of relief funds. It was the culmination of the
Roosevelt attitude toward Negroes.


Again World War
183
So to the astonishment of Mansart, the celebrated Fair Employ-
ment Commission came into being. Many whites protested. There
were strong words in Atlanta at the great camp which the city had
built. There were strong words elsewhere, but on the whole the
order was obeyed. It was a singular victory. And yet when Negroes
sat down and took careful account, what had they won and lost?
Yes, lynching almost disappeared. But something worse than
lynching had taken its place, and that was systematic and nation-
wide injustice in the criminal courts. Negroes, forming twelve per-
cent of the population of the United States, composed from 30 to
80 percent of the prisoners held in jail. They invariably form the
great majority of the prisoners for life, and of 3,219 persons in the
country executed between 1930 and 1952, 1,732 were Negroes. All
this meant that Negroes were being arrested more often than whites,
were being railroaded to prison and given longer terms, and publicly
killed twice as often as whites. Compared to lynching, this record
was far worse and more degrading and fatal for black folk.
And what about the basic matter of earning a living? Negro
slaves earned nothing beyond subsistence, from 1619 to 1863-a
span of 244 years. From 1863 to 1900, the wage of Negro workers,
if not stolen from them, was paid at the rate of $200 to $400 a year
for each family. After the war, the average might be half the average
wage of white workers.
They were beginning to vote and hold office, and yet the major-
ity of Negroes in America were still disfranchised by law or custom
or by fear of violence or denial of work.


CHAPTER XII
BLACK AMERICA FIGHTS AGAIN
The American army in the Second World War, had 500,000
colored soldiers, with 5,000 commissioned colored officers, includ-
ing 500 in the Medical and Dental Corps, 150 chaplains and 200
nurses. The navy had 100,000 colored seamen, including 16,000 in
the Marine Corps.
When the Allies at last landed in Normandy these black boys
manned barrage balloons and big guns, loaded and unloaded ships,
and drove thousands of trucks carrying supplies and troops on the
French highways to the front lines. They had already helped
largely to build the 1800-mile Alcan Highway in Canada and the
Ledo Road in Burma. Colored pilots bombed Sicily, Italy, Germany
and Rumania, and thirty of them earned the Distinguished Flying
Cross. A colored artillery unit helped hold Bastogne in Belgium
when McAuliff's 10,000 men were entirely surrounded by Nazis.
The colored gand Infantry Division in Italy bent but did not break
before a Nazi counter-offensive. Negroes built airstrips in New
Guinea, fought against Japanese at Bougainville, against Germans
in North Africa, and served in India, Persia, Alaska, France, Hol-
land and the Philippines.
These Negroes thought deeply as they served, and some wrote
home:
"We thought about conditions as they exist in the States.
We were elated to go into battle and perhaps die for rights
that we, as Negroes, had never known. But the heart-breaking
part about it was that the people we were to fight against could
get better opportunities in our own country than we could.
All they had to do was to get there."
A little sister wrote poetry to her black brother in the ranks:
“Or is the world just upside down
The right all on one side.
184


Black America Fights Again
185
One group of kids can buy war bonds
But cannot buy a ride.
Or will this all be straightened out
through blood and prayers and tears,
Or will it just go on and on
As long as there are years?"
A soldier aboard a transport wrote:
“We were responsible for getting out the evening meal.
This was a good six hours' job, and the heat was so intense
that we worked stripped to the waist. We were bitter because,
with at least four thousand men aboard, only our black battal.
ion was required to perform this drudgery every day. Some of
our non-coms protested but they were only reduced io privates
and sent back to the job.”
Still another said:
"The battle of the Bulge was the last and almost success.
ful effort of Germany to rule the world. In that battle were
black soldiers and because of the need there was greater inte-
gration of black and white troops than ever before."
Naturally there were some touches of human joy, as when one
black correspondent wrote of his troops entering into Paris:
“I have never been kissed so much in all my life. Almost
every woman I meet on the street stops and kisses me on both
cheeks. It is a beautiful custom.”
The West was surprised and bewildered by the resistance which
the Soviet Union exhibited to the fierce onslaught of the Germans.
The British suggested American lend-lease to the Soviets; it would
not save them, of course. It was never meant to save them but it
would give Britain a longer breathing spell and forward that mutual
annihilation of two enemies which might save the world for them.
Americans went further and said, “Suppose the British Empire and
the vast dominion of France fell, who would be their heirs but
America?” It was the American Century by logic, and there was no


186
WORLDS OF COLOR
need for fighting for it-let fascism in Germany and Communism
in the Soviet Union kill each other off, while we inherited the earth!
Almost deliberately, therefore, Britain and America, subtly led
by Big Business, sacrificed France to Germany. Britain, despite all
her respect for French culture, had hated the French for goo years,
and her own ruler had long styled himself “King of France." Amer-
ica held France in contempt, thought her sex crazy even for "dark-
ies,” though at the same time exquisite in food, manners and dress.
This compelled at once almost slavish compliment and bitter jeal-
ousy. Let the Bosch discipline the Frogs. Here, too, America would
"take over."
But if America was sluggish in the European area of the war, she
rushed fiercely into battle in the Far East. Here, her pride and
prestige were hurt and her color prejudice lent strength to her arm.
The navy in which American Negroes at the time could enter only
as menials saw the disgrace of the Britania which had so long ruled
the waves.
There were black boys a-plenty who crept through all the mud
of the tropical islands from Hawaii to Japan, who died in Iwo Jima
and on Okinawa. They suffered from fever, brutality and race hate.
But their voices did not carry far and few came back to talk. In the
Philippines they remembered their black brothers of the Spanish
war and they saw the great bandmaster, Walter Loving, drop dead
and unavenged before the guns of Japanese guards.
At the battles of the Coral Sea and Midway, early in 1942, the
United States began the annihilation of the Japanese fleet which
had been overextended in annexing the vast new Japanese empire.
The American army had begun a long, slow, roundabout and costly
approach to Japan which would take years but was sure to be fatal
if left free to develop. After all, Japan with 83 million people and
limited resources was fighting alone the richest nation on earth
with 150 million inhabitants. Japan must have help.
It was late in 1942 that a Japanese gentleman called on Judge
Mansart in his New York offices. He professed to know a certain
Indian whose interests Mansart had defended successfully many
years ago. He was a well-bred person of rank and education and
said he was about to leave the country by special passport. He talked
generally and then confidentially.
“Judge Mansart, in strictest confidence, do you think American


Black America Fights Again
187
Neyroes would be disposed to help Japan if they had opportunity?"
“In what way? By sympathy, political support or by-espion-
age?"
“Not only in these ways, but by-revolt?"
"No," said the judge, “I do not think so."
The Japanese continued imperturbably. “I have heard,” he
said, “that a slave psychology still hampers your people and that
no insult, no discrimination can bring among them aught but
whimpered tears and prayers,”
"That is in part true; but more than that, these tears and
prayers, along with hard work, patience, repeated appeal to reason,
and successful organization have brought us such progress that we
hope in time to reach full equality in this nation.”
“At the present rate, when will you reach that goal? A hundred
years or a thousand? Pardon me. I do not mean to be discourteous.
We Japanese know only too well how long it takes to make the
white world admit the equality of colored peoples. We are fighting
today desperately to hasten the rate of progress. I take it that you
do not think your people can help?"
“You are right. I see now no practical way."
“Others do not agree with you. Your jails are full of bitter vic-
tims unjustly incarcerated. Your streets are full of poor and
neglected persons of your race whom the New Deal helped last
or quite forgot. There are 300,000 American Indians left from the
million of 1500; segregated mostly, and forgotten on reservations.
They do not love this nation. There are a quarter of a million
Nisei, American-born Japanese, largely robbed of their property
and herded into concentration camps. They are ready for any-
thing. There are millions of white Americans-a third of your
nation-so degraded and disappointed that they can feel what we
feel. Judge Mansart, is this no sound basis for revolt?”
"It might be, if conditions get worse. But if they get better"
"They will not get better," said the Japanese. “I beg your
pardon. My wishes have rushed my words beyond my discretion.
There are factors to spark this huge body of revolt. There is a
Negro Congress and a Communist Party. There are Pullman
porters led by a socialist whom the A. F. of L. repeatedly has
slapped in the face, who once threatened to march on Washington.
These folk daily thread this land. But I say too much. Do not,


188
WORLDS OF COLOR
I pray, think that I am a conspirator. I have made no plot nor
do I know others who have. But I see the material ripe for a fire.
We Japanese today need such a fire. Please forgive me. Please
forget all I have said, until the day when remembrance will be
a pleasure.”
He looked earnestly at the Judge, who bowed and shook his
hand. He sat long after his guest had gone. He was not sure
whether he had been probed or informed. He was beginning to
question much of his past belief. Especially, he saw a world ruled
by industry and banking in a colonial imperialism of monopoly,
reaping wealth from war. It was becoming clear to him that the
concept of business as service to mankind was yielding to the idea
of business as power over men. We were working not so much to
fulfill the wants of men as to rule men and enable the comfortable
few to use the miserable many.
His Japanese visitor hastened to the pier where he met some
searching questioning. It appeared that he was a Japanese citizen
in transit to his home and on a trip begun before the opening of
war between the United States and Japan. His credentials were
in order although his travel seemed to have been suspiciously slow.
But the war itself perhaps explained that and he was finally allowed
to sail. He landed in France and was immediately received by the
Vichy government. He was soon in possession of a diplomatic
passport and accredited directly to the Fuehrer, Adolf Hitler.
He passed through a distracted land, inwardly torn, yet alive
and almost hysterical with laughter that choked back tears. He
entered a war-beset Germany, muscles taut, eyes glaring, loud-voiced
and harsh, dripping with the blood of Jews. Then more slowly he
fared across the plains of Russia, burnt, torn and ravaged, bleak
with snow, with dead unburied, and with people hollow-eyed and
hungry. It proved difficult to locate Hitler. The German army,
on its long march of 1,500 miles, had reached the shores of the
Black Sea, but its troubles were not over. When the Japanese
special envoy at last reached Hitler's camp, the fatal siege of
Stalingrad was in progress and Hitler was in a fury.
Beyond the ruins of ancient Kiev with its bulbous towers, and
the treeless fields outside the city, the Germans had built a camp,
wide and ordered, with uniforms and trumpets. The Japanese
was led to an elaborate canvas mansion, where sentinels clicked
their heels and challenged pre-emptorily:


Black America Fights Again
189
"The Feuhrer? Your credentials! Pass, Heil Hitler!”
“Who?” Hitler roared as the Japanese was ushered in.
The Japanese bowed low. “Sir, I have the honor to bring you
a special message and appeal from my august master, Hirohito,
Emperor of Japan!” He proffered his red-sealed message but Hit-
ler brushed it aside.
"What is it?" he yelled. “I'm busy. Speak!"
The Japanese saluted and said: “Sir, Japan is hard pressed.
Our navy is outnumbered and in danger. A large American army
is approaching slowly but steadily, and it is well-equipped. My
august Master prays for help from the German nation. If you
will turn back now and subdue England and the American forces
resting there, the pressure on Japan will be lessened. Simultane-
ously, black revolt may break out in the United States.
"While this diverts both Britain and America, we will consoli-
date our new possessions and attack Russia in the rear. After your
fatal blows, Russia will soon surrender to our might, backed, as
it will be by that time, by the hundred millions of China. The
great Fuehrer of Germany and the Sun-God of Japan will then
rule the world."
Hitler whirled about. He frothed at the mouth and screamed:
“Get out. Get out, you yellow dog! Do you think that I will
even tolerate you Japanese monkeys in my back yard? Emperor of
Japan-Sun-God-indeed! I am German Emperor, President of
France, and when I will, King of England and President of the
United States. Do you think I am going to share my rule with
darkies? Get out-go home! Tell your God-damned emperor
to stew in his own vomit!”
Guards hustled the envoy out of the tent.
He was pale and trembling, but dignified. He asked to be
escorted to the front lines and soon left in the direction of Stalin-
grad. It was a week of travel in snow and ice before he was in
the presence of Joseph Stalin. Stalin was ten miles from the
besieged city in a peasant hut; but he did not seem busy or
worried. He received the envoy pleasantly, who now presented
another set of credentials addressed to Marshal Stalin. Stalin had
them carefully translated and listened quietly.
“The Emperor of Japan asked that the treaty of neutrality now
in existence between Japan and the Soviet Union be changed


190
WORLDS OF COLOR
forthwith into an offensive alliance. Japan would send her armies
and airplanes to help drive back the Germans, and together, they
would rule the Eastern world and beat back the West."
Stalin paused over his tea to read a dispatch. Then he said
calmly, “Thank you, sir, and thank the Emperor very much; but
you are too late. The Germans have surrendered at Stalingrad!”
It was January 31, 1943.
The Japanese envoy politely took leave, refusing the proffered
hospitality for the night. He walked out into the black and
bitter cold toward the great city flaming yellow and crimson
beyond, alive with the roar and scream of cannon and bomb,
streaks of colored lights illuminating the sky. The reek of death
and the stink of putrid flesh filled the field. The envoy threw away
his astrakan cap and let the snow sift into his hair. He unbuttoned
his jacket and westcoat until his bare flesh under thin silk was
bared to the chill night. Then he drew out his sword, raised his
hand in salute to the East, where 5,000 miles away the shrines of
Kyoto gleamed warmly in the sun. He said aloud, "My Emperor,
I have failed!” and plunged the sword deep into his bowels, twist-
ing it as his body writhed in death.
In the United States, unrest was stirring among the black folk.
It was, as Judge Mansart had said, not revolt; but, as President
Mansart down in Macon knew, it was deep and bitter unrest and
it might grow to something more dangerous to all America, black
and white.
In Detroit came a terrible outburst. Among the half million
immigrants who came to find jobs in that mass production capital
since 1943, were 50,000 Negroes. They had had to fight for their
jobs; and in June, beating, killing and destruction of the poorest
and blackest began until Roosevelt, over-riding the hesitant gov-
ernor, sent 6,000 Federal troops to quell the riot.
Two months later, in Harlemn, came an inexplicable riot, with
stores looted and torn apart. Even the people themselves did
not seem to know what was happening, and why. Yet, it was in
reality clearly part of the pattern which had spurred the president's
effort to open industry to black workers. It was one aspect of the
world-wide colonial exploitation of colored folk. Harlem was
being persistently exploited, and its black folk wanted bread and
jobs and less clubbing by the police.


Black America Fights Again
191
Except in the case of the well-to-do, the mass of colored workers
were segregated in the worst sections and houses at the highest rents.
Food which could not be sold downtown was disposed of in Harlem
at high prices. Harlem schools were crowded and poorly disciplined
under inexperienced teachers. At the stores into which Negro con-
sumers crowded no Negro could work save as a janitor or servant.
Gambling and dope and prostitution were almost uncurbed, and
the gains went mostly to whites. Merchants were rude to black
folk and policemen ready to club them mercilessly. In this seeth-
ing mass of discontent and revulsion, the most trivial incident
could suddenly be sparked into a roaring flame. The retail district
of 125th Street was half destroyed at the cost of a million dollars-
an expression of the despair of the people living there.
Judge Revels Mansart was particularly upset by this New York
riot-not only because of its general implications and questions
connected with his position, but also on account of his son, Revels
Jr. Young Revels was of draft age and was soon going to be taken
out of college and put into the arıny. His father and mother
were both upset and wanted him to take the officers' course, but
he objected. They began to chide themselves for not having sought
a home and environment better suited to his development, so that
he would have had a group of friends and a pattern of activities
to guide him. But where? How? What community wanted a
Negro family, no matter what their status and character? Their
advent meant lowering of property values through white fear and
hysteria, and invited ostracism if not violence.
Or, suppose this phase passed-where would friendship, neigh-
borly intercourse or social recognition enter? Who would invite
them to tea, dinner or dance? They must be outcast and alone.
The elders might stand this, but what of an eager youth of eighteen?
If this was true around New York, was it better in New England,
the Middle West, or California? Los Angeles was a “Jim-Crow”
town and so was Portland, Oregon. Many unions in San Francisco
excluded Negro labor, and the whole South was caste-ridden and
insane with color hate.
They had even thought of migration, but wherei Canada
would exclude them, and Mexico welcome then only if they were
rich and did not need to work. In Europe, the world was too upset
and competition among youth too fierce for strangers and especially


192
WORLDS OF COLOR
those of a different race to intrude. South America held open some
hope, but the political conditions there and the poverty repelled
the Mansarts. In the West Indies, struggles of class and color were
already too fierce for strangers to be able to live there happily
at peace. The Mansarts were glad that they had but this one
son when the last blow fell-he volunteered for the air force.
Young Revels had read of the flying squadron of Colonel Davis,
a young Negro officer. He came honie one day from meeting and
seeing some of the cadets in Harlem, and calmly announced that
he had enlisted as a private in the flying corps and was going to
Tuskegee for training! His mother was aghast and used every
argument to deter him from so dangerous a mission. But his
father looked at it philosophically.
Here, at last, there seemed to be something which was of real
interest to the boy. Up to this time, Revels Jr. seemed to express
no interest in anything in particular. He went through high school
making a passing grade, attracted by athletics in a general sort of
way but taking no part, having no particular hobbies and showing
no interest even in girls. For him, the girl problem had curious
phases. The colored girls in school were mostly from poor homes,
were ill-dressed and homely. The white girls were richer and better
dressed. They expected to be noticed but he ostentatiously re-
frained from giving them any attention whatsoever. He was
determined that no one of them was going to get the chance of
snubbing him. There were rich and pretty colored girls to be
found, but why spend time on such a quest?
He had entered college with the half-expressed desire that he
might take up the law and follow in his father's footsteps. But
even his father was not enthusiastic about this, because Junior did
not show the drive or the interest which seemed to him to be
necessary for this profession. He thought of inedicine and men-
tioned it, but young Revels wanted nothing to do with ailing
human bodies.
Flying was different. He tried it experimentally. It was the
most marvellous experience that he had ever felt, this soaring above
the earth and all its little nasty things. So Revels Mansart II went
into the Second World War as a flier. He travelled by way of the
college at Macon, sampled “Jim-Crow" for the first time, and
spent a week there on his way to Tuskegee. He especially liked


Black America Fights Again
193
Jean Du Bignon because she did not try to dissuade him from his
chosen job. She just took it for granted that his mind was made
up and that he was capable of deciding for himself, and then
she talked about life from there on. He grew very fond of her
during his short stay. If he ever came back, he wrote to his
parents, he would like to sit in her classes. She understood fellows
like him.
Jean drove him to Tuskegee and was there when, experiment-
ing with one of the old rattle-trap planes which the Government
had palmed off on this Negro school, Revels felt the machine
dissolve beneath him. He promptly baled out, soared safely to
earth and into the arms of an almost fainting Jean.
"Nothing to it,” he said jauntily, and in an hour was aloft
again.
Jean drove swiftly home. This generation! He was a boy who
migbt have been her own son. Thank God she had no sons!
Revels pictured himself sailing over Germany to burn the backs
of Hitler's stormtroopers, who were spewing their hatred of Jews
and “Niggers” and storming Russia. To be sure, he knew little of
Communism, but quite enough to contrast it with Britain's role
in Africa and Asia. He liked French treatment of colored troops.
He had read The World and Africa and Black Folk Then and Now.
He was eager for his mission when, to his bewilderment, his
squadron was ordered to Africa, and not to West but to North
Africa. He growled:
"What the hell are we doing here? Why don't our army jump
on Hitler while his back is turned?"
"Shut your mouth,” whispered his pals. "You're in the army
now.”
He stood one morning in January, 1943, with a young French
Resistance officer looking out on the ceremony when Churchill,
De Gaulle and Roosevelt met in Casablanca, North Africa. The
Frenchman glowered.
"Where's the fourth chair?” he growled.
“For whom?"
"Eboué!"
"And who is Eboué?"
“The black man who made this possible!”
Revels looked blank. The young officer lighted a cigarette


194
WORLDS OF COLOR
and talked. “Recall 1940? Hitler had Europe. The French
surrendered in June, and Britain was bombed for six months
from July on, after the treason of the Belgian king and the disgrace
of Dunkirk. Italy already had armies in Ethiopia and Lybia.
Britain was in Egypt, intent on saving the carcass of its precious
empire-whether Germany or Russia won. All North Africa,
with Algeria, Morocco and French West Africa followed Vichy
in surrender. The fatal port of Dakar, nearest to America, was
unprotected from German seizure. There was but one link missing
in the encircling chain-Equatorial Africa, in the very center of
the continent, south of Lybia and nearest to the forces of Britain
in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. Through Chad could flow mate-
rials from its four Atlantic harbors; here black troops could be as-
sembled and sent north to Egypt. Who held Chad, held Africa;
who held Africa at that moment, held the world.
“The governor of Chad was a black man, born in South
America, in French Guiana, educated in France, once governor
of Guadeloupe. The white governor general of Equatorial Africa
was bribed by Vichy and named Commissioner of all Black
Africa, with headquarters at Dakar. The white governor of
Gabon followed.
"But Eboué, black governor of Chad, called his officers together.
He said: 'We were sitting around the radio in the club at Fort-
Lamy, the night of June 17, 1940, to listen to Pétain's broad-
cast. With me were young French army officers, graduates of
Saint-Cyr, several department heads and other officials of Chad,
and some of the local merchants and functionaries. When Pétain
had finished, a silence, born of great pain, fell upon us all. But
the pain was stilled for me because I sensed that all Chad stood
together in its determination not to yield. I proposed to those
gathered about the radio that we serve notice that, whatever the
cost, we would continue to fight. I gave them a choice-to
follow Vichy or De Gaulle. All but a few chose De Gaulle.'
“A French general later declared: 'If Eboué had followed
the example of Pétain, Laval and Weygand, disaster would have
followed. ... Because he did not do so, British and American
planes were landed and assembled at Nigeria, flown eastward
through Fort-Lamy to Khartoum in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan,


Black America Fights Again
195
thence northward to the Middle East. Had there been a day's
delay, nothing could have stopped Hitler!
"Eboué offered De Gaulle soldiers, minerals and money. His
poor black peasants collected 24 million dollars for the Resis-
tance at a time when they were nearly penniless. Already, Eboué
had built one of the largest and best airports in the East and
nearly four thousand miles of roads. One hundred and fifty
airplanes a day flew from Eboue's airport to the Middle East
with troops and supplies. The soldiers he trained marched
1,700 miles north to fight in Tunis and Tripoli. Later, they were
among the first to enter Paris."
Revels gasped and looked at the assembled guests. “So that
is why he's not here today?"
The young Frenchman growled. "He's not dead yet. He'll
present his bill for services rendered.”
“Will it be paid?”
"Hell, no! Not if Britain and America can help it!"
Revels hung his head.
The flyer stood flanking the road as President Roosevelt and
General Eisenhower explained the expedition and assured the
troops that despite the seizure of half of Russia by Hitler, the
defeat of Rommel at Alamein meant that Britain and the United
States were now in the fight and were going to close in upon
the Germans, even if four years late.
On the whole, Revels liked the Air Corps. There was less
race segregation among the fliers than in other branches of the
service. Negroes were and almost had to be treated like other
men. He made acquaintances, not deliberately but unconcern-
edly. He took men as they came, white and black. Some were
interesting and some were not.
Then came the turning. After Stalingrad, the United States
army turned north to Italy. Leaving Britain to push to the
East and her colonial empire, America went north to take Italy
and be in position to help the Eastern front should Russia march
to London. Revels flew on wings inspired by all the dreams of
his youth.
It was a day in June, 1944. Summer was trying with golden
sun and silver water, and with the emerald green of her foliage,
to burst through the blood and degradation of war. Revels


Black America Fights Again
197
Suddenly, he was sick of it all. Even enemies were human.
This, then, was war! He was not punishing enemies. He was not
striking against armed and evil men. He was starving little chil-
dren, raping young girls and crucifying their old fathers and
mothers. He laughed as he received his final orders to fly to
Rome. Eternal Rome! He rode out and soared into the sky.
He flew up straight and swift, above and beyond his fellows.
He dropped burning Hell on monastery, priest and people. In his
mind's eye, he saw the blood of women and children spurt and
fly. He laughed wildly at planes in pursuit until, outdistancing
all, he was alone in the heavens and all his gas was gone. He
had watched it as it ran out, and then swiftly curving the nose of
his plane earthward, he fell ten thousand feet, closing his eyes
as the plane drove its nose a hundred feet into the ground of
Italy.
Judge Mansart received his son's letter long after the boy's
death.
“Dear Mom and Pop:
"When you receive this I shall be dead. I simply cannot stand
this. I know now what war is. I am no longer deceived by fairy
tales of glory and victory. War is dirt and mud, hunger and death,
rape and lying. I have killed enough of my fellowmen. I have
scattered the guts of women and children over the earth. I have
seen blood spurt, red and thick, to feed the soil. I will not live
in a world like this. Tomorrow I am going to carry out orders
and fly as near heaven as my engine will take me and then I am
going to turn and drop straight into the earth. I shall soon be dead.
I never expect to see you again but I greet you. I know what you
have tried to do for me. I am deeply grateful. My love to you
both and to Aunt Jean.
Goodbye.”
There was no funeral. On the Sunday morning after the
news, a few visitors met in Revels' living room. A citation lay
on a crimson throw across the piano. His picture hung on one
wall. A baritone sang:


CHAPTER XIII
ROOSEVELT DIES
union with terrible voided blindly after ansarts
The death of their adopted son had shaken the Mansarts
to the depth of their lives. Both grasped blindly after some
sort of escapism to hide the terrible void. Mrs. Mansart found
it eventually in re-union with her estranged relatives in Charleston,
South Carolina. Her only sister, older than she, had torn the
family pride by openly consorting with a white man who eventu-
ally became governor of the state. Her family were light mulat-
toes, old and well-to-do and related by blood to the best white
families of the state, but it had been more than a century since
any white person had consorted with this proud clan. Their
price was marriage, open and legal. Despite this, one of their
most beautiful daughters had become the known concubine of
a well-born young white lawyer. They lived together in a fine
mansion where she was officially "housekeeper," but with three
children-a boy and two girls. When the man became governor,
an aunt presided over the official mansion, but he continued to live
mostly at his old home. When, however, the young governor
proposed to go to the United States Senate, the couple had to
face facts. The young governor had been chosen to lead the
revolt against the Democratic Party in the South, against the
Roosevelt New Deal. It was not only resentment against Roose-
velt's recognition of the Negro, but also the rise of the fight against
socialism in a region where big business was about to play its
boldest role in oil, sulphur and textiles. A revolt looking toward
a ihird party in the South was due and the young governor was
the man to lead it. But for this, he must rid himself of his colored
family-either that, or the South would ruin him politically, so
cially and financially.
“This thing could be carried on a half century ago. But today
with the women voting, it can't be faced. What do you say?"
asked his supporters. And now he stood in his home with the
cially his thing en voting
199


200
WORLDS OF COLOR
tensed body of his common-law wife in his arms and said to
her: "You know I love you. I have never loved anyone else.
You have been brave and true. I do not see how I can live without
you. But I must. You see it, don't you? I must.” She made no
answer. There was none to make.
He pensioned off his colored family and married a young white
woman of the current aristocracy. The colored woman and her
children came to New York and bought a house on Riverside
Drive. The son, quite white in appearance, was eventually taken
into a white manufacturing firm and disappeared into the white
world. The elder daughter, with darker olive skin, married a
rising young colored lawyer, a protege of Judge Mansart. Mrs.
Mansart had for a long time taken no notice of this family of her
sister. But the youngest daughter, after the suicide of Mrs. Man-
sart's adopted son, called. She was fifteen and of dazzling beauty-
cream of skin, black-haired with liquid eyes, lovely features
and faultless form. She came with the young lawyer brother-in-law
at the suggestion of Judge Mansart. Mrs. Mansart, forgetting
all her anger at her sister, the girl's mother, was drawn to her
immediately and clung to her as to a new-found refuge. The
girl was intelligent, well-bred and ambitious, but she was lost
in New York. Her brother and sister were older and the com-
panions of her childhood were far away in Charleston. Her
mother brooded darkly in dark seclusion. The girl felt deep
compassion for Mrs. Mansart and in turn Mrs. Mansart came to
realize what a wife this girl would have made her dead son; and
despite his death, she found herself continually treating the girl,
Marian, like a prospective daughter.
The Judge, on the other hand, found increasing escape from
his pain by gradually entering a new world. He refused to run
again for the judgeship, even when the possibility of promotion
was held before him. He reduced his private practice to a mini-
mum, taking only cases which particularly attracted him. He
increased his library and began systematic reading of books and
current periodicals. Marian, his wife's niece, got in the habit
of using his library, and finally became his secretary, helped by a
stenographer. The Judge found a new world in a Hungarian
restaurant not far from his office on the East Side. Here, he fell
into the habit of regularly taking a long lunch and meeting
immediate intelligener brother were far asion. The Mansart,
vintelligenclung to, the intet Ms lawyer


Roosevelt Dies
201
foreigners of education, experience and knowledge who received
him gladly as a companion, without exhibiting that patronizing
effrontery which white Americans think it proper to use when
they meet a black American whose position they cannot entirely
ignore. Thus, Mansart was gradually transported into a new
and hitherto unknown world.
He learned how Russia was striving to achieve democracy. In
this desperate, heart-breaking struggle with weak human nature,
with crime and selfishness, the Soviet leaders could count on no aid
or sympathy from the decency and religion of Europe or America.
Judge Mansart listened to this explanation with a good deal of
surprise. He never had the situation put to him in this way.
His whole idea of the Soviet Union, as he thought it over, was
quite the opposite. The aim of the Soviets, he had thought,
was largely murder and purges. Stalin was said to be a ruthless
scoundrel. Yet, here was a contradictory explanation. The Judge
said to himself, “Where did I get my information about Russia?"
He began to realize that he had gotten it largely from the
American press and Leon Trotsky; that when Trotsky came to
Mexico the American press was thrown open to him and Ameri-
can liberals swarmed about him. So that for years it was Trot-
sky who made up the minds of Americans on Russia. All this,
of course, could not have been spontaneous. It must have been
promoted and paid for. All American periodicals, all news serv-
ices were open to Trotsky. The liberal movement became his
agents.
Moreover, now, whether or not it was necessary to change one's
attitude toward Russia and one's interpretation of the current
results of the Russian revolution, whatever was necessary, was
difficult because of the changing place of the newspaper in the
life of ordinary Americans. There was a time when the judge
read the New York Times and Tribune, looked over a few stand-
ard magazines and now and then read a book. He then felt pre-
pared with knowledge, basic knowledge of what was going on in
the world.
But he began to realize that this was no longer true; that the
newspapers withheld news, interpreted the facts in curious ways
and even, on occasion, deliberately lied. This must be because
of the influence of the business interests and powerful banks on


202
WORLDS OF COLOR
newspapers and magazines, which went to the extent of actually
owning them or distributing the materials which they must have-
the newspaper print, the use of the great news-gathering agencies.
Judge Mansart saw, therefore, that he could not depend upon
newspapers as formerly. He must, so far as it was possible, get
his own sources of information.
Judge Mansart began to learn what most men learn slowly
and some never-namely, that when we live through a great series
of human events, we do not necessarily see them, even less do
we really understand them, nor can we arrange them to fit logi-
cally into the world we already know. Perhaps (and this compli-
cates understanding even more) current events clearly show us
that our interpretation of the past has been wrong, that only
through the present can we see the past. Time, in other words,
shifts-future is partly the past and the past is future. Judge
Mansart began to look back and to try to classify and rearrange
his memories and experiences.
The main school of his re-education in the meaning of cur-
rent events was the little Hungarian restaurant where he began to
meet men with a first-hand knowledge of the world, and who
talked frankly about it. He must get further information, by con-
ference if necessary and even by correspondence. It was difficult
and annoying, but manifestly this was what he had to do. So
that he and Mrs. Mansart and Marian, who was often at their
home, made special efforts to acquire and constantly expand
their own collection of facts and impressions concerning the world
developing about them. Marian was soon to finish her course
at Wadleigh High School and planned to enter Hunter College.
Because of his acquaintance with Harry Hopkins and the fact
that he had met him once or twice, Judge Mansart paid special
attention to what the press reported Hopkins as saying; to his
mind, Hopkins was an honest, straight-forward man who tried to
tell the truth as he saw it. Everything therefore, that Hopkins
said, Judge Mansart followed with keen interest.
Mansart recalled that he had had another chance to talk to
him, just before Harry Hopkins went to England. He realized
then that the United States was at last willing to become a part-
ner with Russia against Hitler and Mussolini.
Lend-lease had been debated for months and was finally


Roosevelt Dies
203
adopted as necessary to save Britain, Greece and China. There
was a hard fight, but the President stood firm and finally obtained
the power to extend Lend-lease to the Soviets if Hitler or Japan
attacked her. Hopkins' friends rejoiced. They hoped that this
thin, anemic man would have the courage to stand up for this
program while in England. And, grinning appreciatively, Hop-
kins told them he would.
A few weeks later, this son of a harness-maker appeared in
the Kremlin and sat down with Joseph Stalin; they talked as man-
to-man. He did not bring, as Stalin expected and as his prede-
cessors had, terms calling for the entrance of private capital into
the Baltic areas and the Balkans. He offered only to help beat
Hitler, and the next thing the world knew, the United States
was granting a billion dollars of Lend-lease to Russia.
Looking back over the history of these events which, at the
time they occurred, he had not understood, Judge Mansart real-
ized that his son had died because not until July, 1943, had the
British and Americans attacked Italy; they were still inching
their way to Rome, in June 1944, when young Revels plunged
to his death.
Secretly, Churchill feared victorious Russia. Knowing what
he himself would have done under such circumstances, he was
convinced Russia's victorious hosts would never stop at Berlin but
would march on to London and Paris. Later, Mansart learned
that Churchill had even ordered Montgomery to stack the cap-
tured German arms for eventual use by a new army to be composed
of German prisoners.
When the Peace effort began after Stalingrad, Judge Mansart
concluded that Churchill still feared Russia. Hopkins wrote:
“If the West had responded by an equally strong push on
Hitler's bare back the war might have been settled in 1943.
But the World and its military experts, and especially the Ameri-
cans, refused to believe their eyes and were sure that Russia
must eventually be completely vanquished.”.
Later Hopkins said to America:
"The thing the American people must look out for is that
there is a minority in America who, for a variety of reasons,
would just as soon have seen Russia defeated in the war and who


204
WORLDS OF COLOR
said publicly before we got into the war that it did not make
any difference which one-Russia or Germany-won. That small,
vociferous minority can take advantage of every rift between our-
selves and Russia to make trouble between our two countries.
There are plenty of people in America who would have been
perfectly willing to see our armies go right through Germany
and fight with Russia after Germany was defeated. They repre-
sent nobody but themselves and no government worth its salt
in control of our country would ever permit that group to in-
fluence our official actions.”
Roosevelt who, as Judge Mansart came to see, was a greater
man than Churchill, rose to statesmanship. He set out to build
friendship with the Union of Soviets and dragged Churchill
with him. The only man in the world at the time capable of
getting the trust and friendship of Stalin was Franklin Roose-
velt; and this he accomplished by frankness and honest dealing.
He knew that Stalin was neither fool nor barbarian. He knew
that Russia had just demands and was capable of enforcing them.
He knew that Stalin kept his word but was not to be misled
by flattery or double talk. Personal conferences were arranged
between Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin at Teheran and Yalta,
but at a cost in sheer physical strain which later killed Roose-
velt.
A young man joined Mansart and others at the “Stammtisch"
in the spring of 1945. He seemed well known to many of those
present and talked freely.
“There were strong and curious currents at Yalta,” he said.
"I was there and heard and saw. Subtle, tragic and world-shaking
things were in mind. Not least was the role of the Soviet Union,
led by the cool, unwavering Stalin. Stalin knew Churchill, and
knew him as a ruthless liar who had used every weapon he could
lay hands on to overthrow the Russian Revolution. It was he
who had held back the Allies as long as possible, so that Hitler
had every opportunity to crush Russia; and he had finally yielded
only when he had to.
“Stalin liked Roosevelt because of Harry Hopkins; but Stalin
knew that Roosevelt was largely in the power of those same Big
Business interests which Hoover formerly represented. He knew


Roosevelt Dies
205
that this clique stood behind the landlords of Poland and the
Baltic states who had organized among them a nest of lying and
intrigue against the Soviets. With Poland, they formed the 'Cor-
don Sanitaire' of Clemenceau for conquering Russia whenever
the opportunity offered. Poland had for centuries been the most
dangerous center of greedy landlords in Europe, sucking the life
out of millions of helpless peasants. Poland's hordes of soldiers,
led by buccaneers like Pilsudski, had for decades swept into Russia
and often overwhelmed her. Czechoslovakia and Hungary and
all the Balkan states had for a century been centers of European
exploiters of the peasants.”
Judge Mansart learned that we had given fifty billions of
dollars to help Europe stop Hitler; thirty-one billions of this went
to Britain and we promised more and eventually gave it; ten
billions went to France who laid down her arms and needed more
help than she gave. But only eleven billions went to the Soviet
Union which bore the main brunt of the fighting. This gift
deserved at least to be doubled as Russia lay bleeding along-
side her 15 million dead. But having nearly died to save us, she
was doomed to crucifixion.
In March, 1945, Roosevelt reported to Congress:
“The structure of world peace cannot be the work of one
man, or of one party, or one nation. It cannot be just an Ameri-
can peace or a British peace, or a Russian, or a French or a
Chinese peace. It cannot be a peace of a large nation or of small
nations. It must be a peace which rests on the cooperative efforts
of the whole world.”
Mansart listened attentively to the young man's further com-
ment:
“Tremendous additional agreements were necessary and the
implementation and refining of those was agreed on in principle.
Had Roosevelt lived, this had every chance of being accomplished,
not without friction but with faith, understanding and good will."
Harry Hopkins wrote later:
"We really believed in our heart that this was the dawn of the


206
WORLDS OF COLOR
new day we had all been praying for and talking about for so
many years. We were absolutely certain that we had won the
world's first great victory of the peace-and, by 'we,' I mean ALL
of us, the whole civilized human race. The Russians had proved
that they could be reasonable and far-seeing, and there wasn't
any doubt in the minds of the President or any of us that we
could live with them and get along with them peacefully for as
far into the future as any of us could imagine.”
Judge Mansart had listened to the discussion with deep inter-
est especially to the account of the young eye-witness of current
events.
"Who was that young man?” he asked as the luncheon
broke up.
Someone answered, “I think his name is Hiss-Alger Hiss.”
It was the very same afternoon of this conversation that Man-
sart noticed a newcomer in the restaurant. He was a young man
in his twenties and drew Judge Mansart's attention not only be-
cause he had never noted him before, but because every young
man of this age, especially one with a touch of color in his skin,
reminded him of his lost son. This young man was visibly col-
ored and unusually handsome; broad, well-built and stocky, with
beautiful olive skin and clustered curly hair. As he arose and
glanced toward Mansart, suddenly something vaguely familiar
seemed to leap out from his face. It was a proud, young face,
and its appealing beauty and self-reliance caught Mansart like a
sudden grip. Where had he seen and known that smile? And
Judge Mansart's heart almost stopped. He staggered forward
and, hurrying, caught the young man almost roughly as he opened
the door.
"I beg your pardon. But someway, somehow I thought per-
haps I knew you-had met you somewhere.” The young man's
face grew almost stern, but he answered courteously.
“No, Judge Mansart, I have never seen you before. But I
came here today because I have a letter which I am commissioned
to give you. I lost my nerve when I saw you looking at me. I'm
sorry.” He felt carefully in his inner pocket and produced a
long envelope. “This, sir, is for you, and should have been deliv-
ered some time ago. And here is my card. May I call on you-
from hiuddenly Curly hair


Roosevelt Dies
207
perhaps tomorrow?"
"But certainly. At my office or home.”
“I would prefer your office. Say at four in the afternoon?
Thank you, sir." He left abruptly and Mansart was disappointed.
There was something about him that drew old memories from the
past. What was it? He looked at the card.
MR. PHILIP M. WRIGHT
General Electric, Poughkeepsie, N. Y.
Mansart scowled at the card; it was no one he knew-then he
rushed to his office and opened the envelope.
“My darling Revels:
I shall long be dead when you read this. But it will, I fondly
hope, be given you by the hands of our son, Philip Wright Man-
sart, or, as he calls himself, Philip Wright. I will not try to bring
back the awful tragedy of our parting. I know that all these years
you have thought that I left you voluntarily. How could, O how
could you after all we once were to each other. I never dreamed
you would believe this until your demand for divorce came.
Then I knew. What message they left you, I do not know. I was
kidnapped by my brother and his friends; put into an ambulance,
gagged and transported to a sanitarium where I was committed
legally as an incompetent.
Their plans were frustrated when it was discovered that I was
three months with child, as I had long suspected but hesitated to
tell you. I made a bargain with them. I was to keep the baby but
never to see you again. Otherwise I declared I would kill myself.
It was a long battle, but I with my parents' help won, if that
could be called winning. I went to cousins in Maine and bore my
beautiful child. Later I returned to my home and parents and
brought up our boy in my home town. Then came your appeal for
divorce. I granted it, of course, but soon afterward they discovered
cancer. From this I shall soon die, but with one wish: that you
know that never, never have I ceased to love you. And that you
must know and bless our son. Mary.”
"Mary" was that Mary Wright whom Revels Mansart had mar-
ried in 1921 after he returned from war and whom he thought had


208
WORLDS OF COLOR
deserted him a year later. Now he knew that she had been forced
to leave and that the demand for divorce was not hers but had been
made to seem to come from him. With dumb distress he now
awaited the call of young Wright, his son.
Marian, Mrs. Mansart's niece, was now a senior at Hunter, with
an outstanding record. She had for some time become accustomed
to spend afternoons at her uncle's office, using his library and assist-
ing in systematizing his work. She was there the afternoon when
Philip Wright called-half-way up a ladder where she was seeking
a book.
Wright had made up his mind not to visit Mansart's home and
become socially involved with him and his wife. But he had prom-
ised his mother to talk with his father and now he must do so,
although he had small liking for the task. He entered the well-
furnished and impressive offices just at sunset, before the lights had
been put on and the soft colors of evening were brightening the
mahogany and brass. The stenographer had gone for the day, but
Marian was there, poised on the ladder. Her arm was uplifted, her
neck turned, and the soft light poured across the cheeks of a face
that seemed to Philip the most beautiful he had ever dreamed of.
He paused a moment and then, moving quickly forward, took her
hand to help her down and half whispered: “I think you are the
most lovely thing I have ever seen!”
Marian was used to being stared at and called beautiful in all
sorts of tones and every kind of word; but now she was speechless
and moved as never before. She had never seen a man who so filled
her every ideal of what a human being might be. His face was soft
cream; his hair curled and dripped over his wide forehead; but
above all he had manners and intelligence and he so evidently
meant what he said in such deadly earnest. Both were standing
voiceless, when Mansart came out from the inner office. He was still
so full of emotion over the letter which he had read, that noticing
nothing, he grasped the young man's hand and pulled him into
his office. He began to talk almost hysterically.
"Believe me when I swear that I never doubted but that your
mother had left me voluntarily. I did not for a moment question
her right and duty to do this after what she had suffered. But
I never asked for a divorce; I was told she had applied and I knew
that it was her right to do so. For ten years I lived unmarried


Roosevelt Dies
209
both needed companie dreamed you for girl out ther
and then at last married a good woman, not for love but because
we both needed companionship. That we have had. But, O my
boy, had I known-had I dreamed you existed--"
The young man's face was gray. "The girl out there,” he said,
"is she-your daughter?"
Mansart stared and answered hurriedly:
“O no, she's my wife's niece and assists me--"
But the young man was gone.
Mansart sat down heavily. It was what he deserved, but God
how it hurt! He could see now every lineament of the face he once
loved so dearly, in the countenance of this young man of whose
very existence he had never known.
He dropped his head and sobbed:
"O my son, O Philip my son, O Mary my dead and tortured
wife--"
Marian talked excitedly of the young man who had called,
then left so hurriedly. Mansart told both her and his wife who
Philip Mansart Wright was; he begged Marian to make him return.
She had no difficulty. He was back the very next day and had a
brief conversation with Mrs. Mansart, but he seemed to have little
time for anyone but Marian and she hardly a thought for anyone
but Philip. This went on for a week. Then one afternoon they
came into Judge Mansart's private office, hand in hand. The girl's
face was flushed and the boy's face shone.
“We are going to get married, sir," they said.
Mansart staggered to his feet and clasped them both in his
arms.
Mrs. Mansart was not one who as a rule believed in love at first
sight or trusted the sudden impulses of youth. But this mutual
attraction of her niece and her husband's newly discovered son
made her infinitely happy. It seemed to bring back the eternally
lost. She assented to the marriage, and made the elaborate wedding
a family reconciliation, at which the silent and brooding elder sister,
Marian's mother, appeared, as well as the young lawyer and his
wife.
Philip, who in lieu of military duty, had an assignment at Gen-
eral Electric, secured a leave of absence for their honeymoon. On
the very afternoon of graduation, Philip and Marian Mansart-
Wright drove South in the Judge's big car to the bride's relatives


210
WORLDS OF COLOR
and old companions in Charleston; from there they went on to
Macon, Georgia, to meet President Manuel Mansart.
In Macon, President Mansart was also becoming aware of the
new post-war world. He realized how deep was the resentment
against Roosevelt in certain circles because of his attitude against
wealth, his friendship for workers even if black, and his “appease-
ment” of the Soviet Union. It cropped up again in Warm Springs,
where the tired man tried to recuperate and help others afflicted
like himself to do the same. President Mansart had seen him ride
by on his way to Warm Springs.
“There is death on his face,” he told Jean, and she reminded
him of rumors in the air.
It was the year of Stalingrad when a white man accosted a
Negro employed on the grounds at Warm Springs.
"Why, hello, Jim; you working here?"
“Yes, sir, I'm helping the President's valet.”
"Pretty good job?"
“Oh yes, sir, mighty good. I like it fine."
"What do you do?"
"Well, when the President comes often he wants to be wheeled
about after lunch or in the night when he don't sleep. I often
pushes him in his chair; we wanders about the grounds-down by
the pool and up by the highway."
"Alone?"
“Oh, no-they's always his guards about!"
"Then you take him back and put him to bed?”
“Oh, no. I just takes him back. Only his valet touches him.
He wouldn't have nobody else. I tell you that man carries a bur-
den inside and out-pounds of iron and steel. I don't see how he
does it. But he don't never complain, though sometimes he does
look beat."
“Any colored folks treated in these Springs?"
“Oh, no sir! Only whites.”
“I thought the President was such a friend of your people.”
“He is; but this is the South and he can't interfere--"
“Can't, or won't?”.
“Can't, leastways not all at once. He's got a lot on his mind
besides such matters. Well, I must be moving."
“Do they pay you well?"


Roosevelt Dies
211
"Pretty well-at least a heap better than I was getting."
"You could use more?"
“Oh yes, sure, sure-good night.”
The white man walked slowly back to his car. When he reached
the hotel he talked to his companions.
"I know the ‘nigger' who helps groom Roosevelt.”
“So what? Can he tell us anything we don't know?"
“No--" the man paused and looked his two companions
squarely in the face. "But he is alone with him now and then,
at night."
“With the Secret Service in good sight," replied one.
“Lurking about of course, but inside those grounds--"
The other froze. "But-you don't-you can't!--"
The man was silent behind his hard scowl. “There's nothing
I wouldn't try with that bastard!” he growled.
American corporate finance, centered in an ever-growing net-
work of powerful banks, was developing wider control of industry
and trade. Into its power fell the owners of property, the techni-
cians, the newspapers, editors and publishers; the broadcasters and
actors; even the laborers. The great and growing monopoly of
money and credit was moving toward the absolute rule of the na-
tion and even the world. This super-power hated Franklin Roose-
velt with perfect hatred. They cursed this crippled traitor to his
class, who after refusing Hitler's blackmail, joined Communists
to prevent American business from corralling the earth. These
insane seekers for power swore by earth, heaven and hell to kill the
God-damned meddler and wipe his memory from history.
This was the interpretation of current history to which Jean
Du Bignon gradually came. President Mansart could not wholly
believe it but he listened; he listened also to the strange story
which was whispered secretly on his campus:
“It happened a week later at nightfall, near the pool at Warm
Springs. What happened, few knew. Of those who did, none ever
talked. But next morning a colored man named Jim was found
shot dead near the pool. He had struggled furiously and shrieked
in protest. The President was not harmed and never mentioned
the incident. A white man was also reported found dead on the
grounds.


Roosevelt Dies
213
family which, from mother to grandchild, posed for him every
problem of life which can try a man's heart. He neither whined
nor whimpered, but backed Heaven to Hell to protect the Right.
In all and with all, he kept his soul serene, met mornings with
a smile and talked to the hearts of his countrymen as never Presi-
dents had talked before. He died in harness-that harness of
pounds of steel, under which he grimly bent every waking hour.
His reach was not wide but his grasp was mighty. He 'never
dreamed though Right were worsted, Wrong could triumph.'”


CHAPTER X
THE NATIONS UNITE
President Mansart and his assistant enjoyed the visit of Philip
and Marian. It was a breath from a new young world full of
faith and force, and they were blissfully unaware of the testing of
heart and soul which they must face in the next decade. Jean
especially realized that these young folk were ready for change and
movement and she knew that this was what the world was about to
see. When they left, she began to sense the meaning of the great
march from the Revolution of Roosevelt to the Counter-Revolution
of Truman. It was unbelievable. Here was a man suddenly made
master of the world, grasping in bewildered surprise at the pro-
gram of his leader which he never understood, nor ever would.
It was a fantastic and awful commentary on naive American belief
that any man-at least any white man-could do anything; a belief
which might one day ruin the world.
It was at this time that Mansart's son Douglass, from Chicago,
visited his father. Mansart and Jean were both glad, for none
was more conversant than Douglass with current politics in the
Middle West. Douglass had come to bring his son, Adelbert. The
young man, it seemed, had decided to come to the State College
for further study, a rather slim young man of medium height,
brown, with a discontented face. Indeed, he bore a startling re-
semblance to Mansart's lost son, Bruce-there was the same black,
loosely cured hair, the same unsettled and hesitant manner. Man-
sart could not quite understand why Douglass' son had chosen
to leave the North and his well-to-do family to come to Georgia.
Dougass' explanation was vague, but Mansart was so glad to
have a grandson here at school that he did not press the matter
and welcomed the boy, letting Jean take charge of him. Mean-
time, he took up most of Douglass' short stay with questions about
Truman, who had suddenly become President.
He found that Douglass had become rather corpulent, but
was very well-dressed and evidently prosperous. He was expecting
214


The Nations Unite
215
to go to the State Senate next year and was the political boss
of the chief colored Chicago Ward. Of course, Douglass knew
Truman-he knew all the politicians in the Middle West.
“I saw him in France during the First World War. He was a
good-natured, fun-loving guy who played the piano and had a good
time. His rank as captain, which he got at the close of the war,
rather went to his head, but he was better than most such officers.
Back in Kansas City, he became one of Tom Prendergast's gang
and that was a worse outfit than our Big Bill Thompson's. Tru-
man gave up his men's outfitting business which had failed any-
way, and 'went into politics.'
“As Prendergast's boy, he became county judge, then went to the
United States Senate. He was the club that beat Wallace to the
Vice-Presidency in the campaign of 1944 and was early chosen to
change Roosevelt's policies in case Roosevelt died, which he did.
So reaction is on top now. We have got as president a man with
elementary school education, no cultural background and rather
big ideas of himself due to his success in a provincial western city.
Much will depend on the advice he gets and on his own headstrong
impulses toward self-assertion.
“But Truman's real handicap, and one he will never escape, is
his lack of a fundamental and broad education. He is essentially
a good-natured man who wishes most folks well. He has ability
and a clear mind. But he does not know the world. History, to
him, is a closed book. He has no conception of science; he does
not read; he does not listen to the world's real teachers. He never
learned how to study. He was always, essentially, a 'show-off.'”
Jean listened with interest to Douglass' account of the new
president, Harry Truman, but she was even more interested at
the moment in his son. She wondered how Douglass' married life
had gone, for she had not seen him for many years and this son,
who was not happy, intrigued her. It took a little time to gain
young Adelbert's confidence and learn why it was that he had left
Chicago and the opportunities of the North, his home and the
schools open to him, to come down here. But gradually it came
out. He did not like his home. He particularly disliked (in fact
he said "hated”) his mother. He did not like his sister. His father
was good enough but had hardly any time for him.
It turned out that the real trouble centered in the fact that


216
WORLDS OF COLOR
Douglass' first child was a girl, light-skinned and pretty, whom the
mother adored and exhibited. Her hair was brown but very krinkly,
and her mother from the first had had it straightened and oiled
and pressed weekly. And then the second child, good-looking and
a boy, was disliked and almost disinherited in his mother's affection
because his skin was dark. He was quite as dark as his father, with
loosely curled hair which was, of course, a natural quirk of colored
heritage.
In consequence, however, while mother and daughter often went
to town, sight-seeing or to theaters and restaurants and enjoyed
themselves in many ways, the dark little boy was never taken with
them. He exhibited too clearly his Negro blood. From early
childhood, then, he grew up hating his family and the world.
His father sensed this but there was little he could do. He was
busy with his business and his developing political career. True,
he gave the boy money, sometimes took him along on automobile
trips, but the boy grew up largely by himself.
His father had had both children enrolled in white school dis-
tricts. This suited his sister who ignored him, but it made little
difference to Adelbert. He kept away from his white fellow stu-
dents. Then, when he came of high school age, he insisted on at-
tending Wendell Phillips High which was in effect a colored school
in a Northern city where schools were not supposed to be segre-
gated by race. The school was crowded but well-equipped and had
good teachers. He was interested in most of his studies and did
well. He liked his colored fellow-students.
Approaching his graduation from high school, when the ques-
tion of college came up, he determined to go to his grandfather
in Georgia. He wanted to live in a colored world which was satis-
fied with being colored. The idea persisted that perhaps his grand-
father would turn out to be a different kind of a man than his
father. Douglass was astonished at the boy's decision but on the
whole was rather pleased with it. His mother was both relieved
and affronted. And so, the boy, who had always been a problem
to his Chicago family, suddenly appeared in Macon.
Gradually, he began to fit into the life of the school. He was
particularly interested in drama and drawing and he wrote Eng-
lish well. One or two of his little plays were staged and Mansart
began to look forward to the time when his grandson would become


The Nations Unite
217
a teacher in the school.
When an invitation came to attend his sister's wedding, Adel-
bert was firm in his decision not to go. He said he knew Dr.
Steinway, the physician she was marrying, a man nearly twice as
old as his sister but very successful, very, indeed. He had been
trained in Chicago and practiced there for some time; then he had
gone to Los Angeles. He had insisted that this was a growing part
of the country for Negroes, being nearest to the Spanish world of
South America.
He became what was sometimes called a "commercial” physi-
cian. He had no deep human sensibilities or sympathies. He was
strong, and callous. He calculated on making his profession "pay"
in every way. He “strung along” those of his patients who could
pay well for numerous visits over long periods of time. He was
careful to select patients who could pay well, and to these he was
always attentive. Poor patients he got rid of in various ways-
by curing them quickly or sending them to the city clinics; some-
times by simply saying that he could do nothing for them.
He split fees with consultants and specialists, even with drug-
gists. He made out prescriptions at high prices when the same
medicines were available in patented form at a much lower price.
He was a good diagnostician but did not waste time on diagnosis
when he thought a hastily prescribed pill would do. A variety of
machines, gadgets and medical apparatus was installed in his
office, all calculated to impress his patients. He often turned pa-
tients over to the nurses who put them through treatments which
required the use of these various machines. This did them no
harm, but it cost them more money. He had no scruples about
recommending operations by surgeons with whom he had worked
out business arrangements and often sent his patients to hospitals
when it was not absolutely necessary.
Young Adelbert probably gave a rather too unfavorable picture
of the physician. But there was much truth in his description.
Dr. Michael Steinway was especially opposed to “social medicine"
or to free medical service of any kind whatsoever. He firmly be-
lieved in what he called “the democracy of persons choosing their
own physicians and paying them.” He was a large, good-looking
man, yellow in color, with straight hair, always well-tailored and
groomed, and with a perfect bedside manner. He was a good


218
WORLDS OF COLOR
"mixer," collected and told excellent stories, and had a wide ac-
quaintance with persons of wealth, influence and power, white and
black. His political connections too were wide.
He had put off marriage until he could have the kind of estab-
lishment which he wanted. That he found in Los Angeles where
he bought, on Harvard Boulevard, one of the elaborate mansions
which its former white owners could no longer afford to keep up.
There he established his office and nurses, and installed an excel-
lent household which included a gardener, cook and maids. Then
he looked about for a pretty girl and a young one, with money in
the family. He found her on a visit to Chicago in the daughter
of Douglass Mansart.
The mother was delighted. It meant that she would make an.
nual visits to Los Angeles and would not have to spend the cold
winters in Chicago. It also meant that her social career there
would be pleasant and notable. Douglass did not like the idea at
first, but after all, what difference?-perhaps an older man would
take better care of his daughter than some young whippersnapper
who wanted to get hold of Douglass' money.
So the marriage took place without Adelbert. It was elaborate
and costly, and some phases of it very beautiful. It was held in a
prominent Catholic church because Mrs. Mansart had joined the
Catholics early in her career for various reasons, some of which
were obvious and some not mentioned. The bride was pretty and
gorgeously gowned; the gifts were costly and many of them quite
appropriate. The going away on the Santa Fe "Super-Chief” train
was an event which even the white papers noticed with deference.
Manuel, who attended, did not exactly enjoy the occasion. The
mansion on South Boulevard was very beautiful, costly and well-
run. But there was in it very little that could really be called
“home life.”
While he was in Chicago, Bishop Wilson wrote him asking
his father-in-law to return by way of Dallas and suggested they
both attend the organization of the United Nations in San Fran-
cisco. The Bishop was a “consultant" of the UNO and Douglass
easily arranged for his father to get a similar appointment. The
position carried no power and little influence; but it gave them
the right to attend the sessions and hear delegates discuss and
answer inquiries in small groups. Mansart was eager to go, for he
had high hopes in the UNO.
Shop was ation of the Un Dallas and ote him as


220
WORLDS OF COLOR
Mansart, in the Bishop's new home in Dallas, had talked with
him of Africa.
“Something new,” the Bishop said, "is coming out of Africa
in the last half of this century. There will be revolution in West
Africa, and blood in the East. Ethiopia will regain its seacoast and
curb white investors. The ancient Sudan will be an independent
state, and a new Egypt will be free of Britain. South Africa will
start a war of races when less than three million whites seek to
chain ten million colored and blacks. The United States will fur-
nish capital for the whites. If any nation furnishes arms to the blacks
the end will come soon.”
"What nation will?"
"India or the Soviet Union-or West Africa."
“I am amazed-I cannot believe that in either case--"
“In a life and death struggle will Negroes ask or care who sends
them arms? I tell you, something new in coming out of Africa.”
“But what of Central Africa?”
"If and when white South Africa falls, then Central Africa-the
Rhodesias and the Congo will go the way of West Africa.”
“And French Africa?"
“Will go the way of Indo-China.”
“But will France ever surrender Indo-China?”
"She will. I know all this sounds fantastic, but believe me,
President Mansart, this prophecy is near the truth. It's simply a
matter of time. But what bothers me is, what are black leaders
going to do for the people of those countries? As I see it now,
what they want to do is to replace the white exploiters, the people
who have been using Africa for the comfort and luxury of Europe
and America.
“The ascendancy of black men, trained in England, to some de-
gree in France, and a few but an increasing number in the United
States, is going to transfer some of that comfort and luxury to
Africa. I wonder, however, if the mass of Africans are going to be
better off? Probably, and yet not well off. Black West Africans,
for instance, want to be the black rulers of an African world, doing
exactly the same thing that white rulers have done for three hun-
dred years. I do not like it, President Mansart, I do not like it."
Then the Bishop added, “I have one commission from Africa
and that is to induce American Negroes to renew their interest in


The Nations Unite
221
Africa. They want to hold a fifth Pan-African Congress in Paris
or London this Fall. The NAACP, you remember, initiated these
congresses in 1919. I wonder if it will help renew them now?"
“I doubt it,” said President Mansart. “The NAACP is in a
difficult position just now. It is trying to carry on a progressive
program and avoid being attacked as Communist.”
"But I don't see how it could,” said the Bishop.
"Nobody else does. But while we are in San Francisco we'll
have a chance to inquire.”
Manuel Mansart and Bishop Wilson sat in the Opera House
at San Francisco and witnessed the effort to organize the United
Nations. Mansart felt uplifted. He seemed to be seeing history
in the making. Seated directly behind the President and the Bishop
were three persons-a young colored man, a white middle-aged man
and a white girl. The colored man was a former student at Man-
sart's college and introduced them to each other. He explained
that he was temporarily representing the Urban League whose
secretary would arrive next day. The white man was on the board
of directors of the NAACP and the young woman was Sally Haynes,
the young friend of Harry Hopkins, whom he had met before.
As they walked away together, Mansart mentioned Alger Hiss
who had presided.
"I met him before. I like him. A good, clean-cut American
with no airs; honest, if I know an honest man. Stettinius I never
liked. He seems to me like a rich man's spoiled brat, with no
depth or breadth.”
"Did you notice,” asked Grey, the white man, “how popular
Molotov is? He may be wrong but he has the poise of knowledge
and the dignity of confidence.”
The Bishop recalled the variety of the world's peoples who
daily sat in the great auditorium. He was never weary of watch-
ing their coming and going-British Eden and French Bidault;
the turbanned Arabs and dark Ethiopians; even the contradic-
tory Smuts, slave-driver and humanitarian. Sally, however, was
critical and uneasy.
"I see something which I fear none of you noticed. Observe
how stubbornly they fight over colonial trusteeships?"
“But the Charter," interrupted Mansart. “That splendid
Charter. Listen to this: ‘promoting and encouraging respect for


222
WORLDS OF COLOR
human rights and for fundamental freedoms for all without dis-
tinction as to race, sex, language or religion."
"Yes, but read on,” said Sally, and sense the flat contradiction
in the paragraph on trusteeships for the little people of the earth;
in the Trusteeship Council the imperialists can never be outvoted.
I smell a rat-a biz, filthy, evil rat. You see, my friends, I know
Big Business. I grew up with it-I'm one of its products. Of this
new ruling class, my father was a prince of the blood-a ruthless
banker who gambled in human beings until he lost a huge fortune
and blew out his own brains.
“I tell you, there is evil in the air. We are in today for a scientif-
ically conceived and directed propaganda which will put Goeb-
bels to shame. Listen, I was at Dumbarton Oaks last September
as an ornamental guest whom most of those present regarded
as a spy. I was not housed in the decorous old manor house with
the officials,no, I was at that other mansion back in the forest.
There the rulers of the earth gathered and listened and plotted.
There were wires and wireless which connected us with every
center of power in the world. Messengers and messages were end-
less and uninterrupted. We held our breath, whispered, shouted
and celebrated. What a web those spiders began to weave.
"I know you all think me a dope, talking through my hat. I
am telling the exact truth, save for names. I am trying to say
that because I was my father's daughter, left penniless by his death,
and because I worked with Harry Hopkins, I was confidently
counted upon as eager to betray Hopkins and Roosevelt. I sat for
a time in the inner sanctum of the men now plotting to over-
throw and rule this nation and the world. I was with them
that midnight last month when Roosevelt died. They drank
champagne and shouted for joy."
Sally's listeners were uneasy but said nothing. Later, down in
the harbor, the five had dinner together near a window looking
toward the craft-laden sea. The food was good and varied. They
lingered to smoke and talk.
Bishop Wilson said slowly:
"One thing in which I rejoiced now brings me pause. That
is the veto. By the veto which six nations have in the Security
Counci, the white people hold the world in leash.”
“You forget yellow China.”


The Nations Unite
223
“That is just the point; the whites own and control China.
The day they lose that control or fear its imminent loss, comes
the Third World War, by whatever name it may be called.”
There was a long silence and then Mansart, turning to Grey,
brought up again the matter of the renewed Pan-African move-
ment and the possibility of the NAACP supporting it.
"I'm a newcomer to the NAACP and cannot speak with
authority. But we are in a singular jam. On our initiative Tru-
man is going to appoint a Civil Rights Committee headed by Big
Business, with both the NAACP and the Urban League repre-
sented. I have good reason to believe that such a committee
will make a very strong report. If it does, this will indicate that
Big Business is willing to compromise with Negro leaders and
grant them civil rights if they in turn will keep out of the labor
movement and give up the socialism of the New Deal. If the
NAACP refuses to play ball it may be branded as communist and
persecuted, just as they plan to destroy the Council on African
Affairs and the Civil Rights Congress.”
Both Mansart and Wilson were not only amazed but skeptical.
"It isn't possible!"
"I can't believe it."
Sally said, “You are due to see in America before long much
that is now unbelievable."
It would have been interesting to this group if they could at
this very moment have listened in at a conversation taking place
at the Hopkins Hotel on the heights above. In an exclusive suite
on the top floor, with a gorgeous view of the harbor, sat four
white men in close conversation.
"Wilson, that's strong stuff!”
They were discussing a report for President Truman on Civil
Rights for Negroes.
"It is strong.”
“It means some day intermarriage and social equality between
races."
“It does--"
“Then, by God--”.
"Wait; either this, at our own time and in our own way, or we
develop in our midst a group of bitter enemies, daily growing
smarter and more united and richer by internal cooperation;


224
WORLDS OF COLOR
open to any proposal from anywhere for secret revolt or armed
rebellion-fifteen million here plus ten million in the West In-
dies plus at least 25 inillion more in the South and Central
Americell, they'll nee revolted, I sme a dozen other
“And never have revolted, I suppose—at least if you let us tell
it; but remember Haiti, Cuba, and a dozen other islands; remem-
ber D'Ayllon, Old Providence; in New York and New Jersey
and a dozen times in Virginia, South Carolina and Louisiana.
Remember Vesey and Nat Turner; remember a hundred thousand
fugitive slaves and a half million black soldiers, laborers and spies
who settled the fate of the Civil War; remember the Chicago,
Washington and Detroit riots? The majority of living human
beings today the world over hate our guts. Shall we help them
out by building a black atomic bomb in our own insides?"
“So you are going to let your daughter marry a 'nigger'}"
“What I want won't make a damn bit of difference to her,
especially if Russia, China, India and all the Dark World get
strong enough to step on our faces. And too, my dear friend,
what the hell are you bellyaching about? You've got colored
cousins now in every Southern state; a few more in 25 years,
or a brother-in-law in fifty, won't kill you. Meantime, with just
this report-not even carried out-Negroes will be frantic with
joy. They'll do our will; they'll hate labor unions and fight
Russia. They'll desert Africa and China. They'll worship the
white rich and despise the black poor.”
"Well, I still don't like it!”
"Neither do I, but what else can we do about it? It's equality
or war. I say get their leaders, annex their brains; honor and
promote them; separate them from their ignorant masses-sepa-
rate them from boiling Africa and Caribbean upsurge. I tell you
there's nothing else to do! Besides, we promise today; we start to
fulfill in ten years; we step forward in 25 years. Boys, this is a
program for a century."
"You mean the donkey and the carrot act?"
“More than that, boys; this is no donkey and we've got to
put up more than carrots."
"I wonder," said the fourth man, hitherto silent, "I wonder!
Perhaps we must offer more than carrots, but surely not as much


The Nations Unite
225
as social equality. At least not for a long time. Admission to
hotels and the social gatherings open to the public will satisfy
the dark social climbers for a long time yet. You see, the Ne-
groes have small alternatives. Their internal social structure, while
extensive, can be shattered by only a slight giving in on our part.
Who will attend the Alpha Phi Alpha Christmas gatherings or
balls or parties, if they can go to a Waldorf Astoria public New
Year's dinner along with the ordinary white social climbers?
And yet, this will be far from inclusion in the Social Register.
Let's be sensible. We must yield, but such yielding can be
stretched over a hundred years!”
Such was the conference at the Hopkins Hotel. Our group
did not hear it.
The Bishop and President parted after the UNO conference
at San Francisco. The Bishop started east, stopping in New
York, where he had already accepted a place on the Board of Di-
rectors of the NAACP. He first noticed that the organization
had in effect been divided into two parts. The Legal Department,
with separate offices and funds, was attacking the question of color
discrimination, especially in education and voting. It was hav-
ing notable success, destined in the next decade to become phe-
nomenal. The main organization, on the other hand, faced
difficulties. The Civil Rights Report was still only on paper;
the FEPC had received no impetus from President Truman, de-
spite his promises; and the old question of relations with trade
unions and the labor movement still faced the old hesitation.
If, now, the organization were to begin pushing agitation
for civil rights beyond the program of the Legal Department;
especially, if it now were to join the labor movement and help
the progressives toward the new aims of this world-wide move-
ment, it would without doubt be charged with Communism
and, like most current movements for social uplift, be publicly
proscribed as “subversive.” In these vital fields, therefore, the
organization was cautiously marking time and waiting and, at
the same time, with difficulty keeping its more reactionary ele-
ments from joining the national witch-hunt.
The Bishop was puzzled, but being a newcomer on the Board,
ventured but one suggestion, and that was that the NAACP
take part in the projected Fifth Pan-American Congress to be
M


WORLDS OF COLOR
held in England in the fall of 1945 With some reluctance the
Board of Directors authorized Bishop Wīkson to attend the Pan-
African Congres as their representative. The Bishop eventually
thus came into the international labor movement
Early in 1945 the World Federation of Trade Unions was
formed in Paris, and there were representatives of various Afri-
can provinces and countries present. There arose some difficulty
wa the right of these African trade union representatives to
spak for themselves and not be spoken for by the trade union
organizations in the mother countries-the English trade unions,
for instance, wanted to be the mouthpiece for the British Afri-
cans. Otherwise what might not colonial labor demand? After
a considerable struggle, the Africans won their right to speak for
themselves.
Then various of these African representatives proposed that
immediately following the labor congress there be called another
Pan-African congress. They thus took up the idea which the
NAACP had started back in 1919, under which four Pan-African
congressos had already been held. It was first proposed then,
that a Fifth Pan-African Congress be held in Paris in the fall of
1945, but certain difficulties developed, partly connected with
the war, which made it necessary to transfer the meeting to
London. The Fifth Pan-African Congress, to which Bishop Wil-
son was sent, was thus scheduled to meet in London.
Here, new difficulties arose, undoubtedly instigated by the
government, which made it impossible to find adequate halls
in which to meet or to secure suitable boarding accommoda-
tions. Finally, a local organization in the city of Manchester
undertook to grapple with the matter, the Congress was called
to convene in Manchester, and in October, 1945 the Fifth Pan-
African Congress was held.
The Bishop planned to viist the Pan-African Congress with
Sojourner, intending then to go to West Africa to devote him-
self to his church work. It had been arranged that during their
absence, their little daughter would stay with the wife of Judge
Mansart. But at the last moment this plan was changed and
the little three-year-old girl, named "Africa," flew with her par-
ents to England and went with them later to Africa.
More than 100 delegates met in Chorlton Town Hall, Man-


The Nations Unite
227
chester. For the most part they were delegates sent directly
from African colonies. Represented were Gambia with 200,000
Negroes, Sierra Leone with a million, the Gold Coast with
four million; the Union of South Africa with seven and a half
million natives and other colored people; Nigeria with 30 mil-
lions and representatives from still other colonies in North Africa
and the West Indies.
The delegates were young men, some of them immature and
enthusiastic, others with considerable experience in colonial life
and social development. The proceedings were of great interest,
the speakers exhibiting not only the natural and sometimes emo-
tional eloquence of Negroes, but also an illuminating substratum
of knowledge of hard fact and careful judgment.
One could trace in the speeches two clear tendencies; self-criti-
cism, warnings against inner class conflict; urgings to sacrifice as
the beginning of reform. The other, and the stronger, a demand-
sometimes arising to bitterness-for self-government and even inde-
pendence. The basis of these demands, as developed in many of the
speeches, were an exposition of colonial conditions that astonished
even many who knew something of what colonies mean. It was
emphasized, for instance, that in West Africa, under the controls
of the War Administration, ginger, which used to sell at 25 pounds
a ton and rose in wartime to 100 pounds, was bought from the
black farmers, under compulsion, at 11 pounds and 30 pounds.
Representatives of 300,000 farmers of the Gold Coast complained
bitterly of the cocoa situation and the refusal of the new Colonial
Secretary of the Labor Government even to listen to proposals
that involved any change in the Economic Controls then in effect.
Each speaker emphasized the poverty-the grinding poverty-of
West Africa, of families receiving an average of 5 pounds a year
for their work, and skilled labor toiling to earn barely 2 shillings
a day.
Among the persons whom Bishop Wilson met at this congress
were several whom years afterward he had cause to remember.
There was Jomo Kenyatta, a tall, bearded man from Kenya,
leader of the native movement. There was Kwame Nkrumah who,
a few years later became the first prime minister of the Gold
Coast. There was Wallace Johnson, the trade union leader in
Sierra Leone, and several other black men from South Africa


228
WORLDS OF COLOR
and Liberia who were destined to play important roles in the
African liberation movement.
The final resolutions said in part:
"The delegates of the Fifth Pan-African Congress believe
in peace. How could it be otherwise when, for centuries the
African peoples have been victims of violence and slavery.
Yet if the Western world is still determined to rule mankind
by force, then Africans, as a last resort, may have to appeal
to force in the effort to achieve Freedom, even if force destroys
them and the world.
"We are determined to be free. We want education, the
right to earn a decent living; the right to express our thoughts
and emotions, and to adopt and create forms of beauty. With-
out all this, we die to live.
"We demand for Black Africa autonomy and independence,
so far and no further than it is possible in the 'ONE WORLD'
for groups and peoples to rule themselves subject to inevitable
world unity and federation.
"We are not ashamed to have been an age-long patient
people. We are willing even now to sacrifice and strive to
correct our all too human faults. But we are unwilling to starve
any longer while doing the world's drudgery, in order to sup-
port, by our poverty and ignorance, a false aristocracy and a
discredited Imperialism.
"We condemn monopoly of capital and rule of private
wealth and industry for private profit alone. We welcome
economic Democracy as the only real democracy; wherefore we
are going to complain, appeal and arraign. We are going to
make the world listen to the facts of our conditions. For their
betterment we are going to fight in all and every way we can.
"The Fifth Pan-African Congress, therefore, calls on the
workers and farmers of the Colonies to organize effectively.
Colonial workers must be in the front lines of the battle
against Imperialism. Your weapons—the Strike and the Boycott-
are invincible.
“This Fifth Pan-African Congress calls upon the intellec-
tuals and professional classes of the colonies to awaken to
their responsibilities. The long, long night is over. By fighting


The Nations Unite
229
for trade union rights, the right to form co-operatives, freedom
of the press, assembly, demonstration and strike; freedom
to print and read the literature which is necessary for the
education of the masses, you will be using the only means by
which your liberties will be won and maintained. Today
there is only one road to effective action-the organization
of the masses.
"Colonial and Subject Peoples of the World Unitel”
communisme, the continent to visit Libe
These proceedings the Bishop duly reported to the NAACP in
America: but such a program was too forthright for this organiza-
tion to dare espouse at that juncture. It therefore quietly dropped
this entire program.
During the next three years Bishop Wilson, moving on to
West Africa, watched the world in considerable perplexity. First
he saw the American and western trade unions try to smash the
new Federation formed at Paris; ostensibly to oppose Communist
trade unions, but also, as Wilson knew, to still the voice of
colonial unions and forestall demands for wages more nearly
equal to wages in the home countries. In both West Africa and
the West Indies, the Negroes hesitated lest they be charged with
Communism. But Wilson saw revolution in West Africa and
unrest all over the continent. Meeting Padmore, the black English
leader, the Bishop ventured to visit Liberia in a plane which used
the great airport which the United States built for the Republic
of Liberia.
Wilson looked down upon the vast rubber plantations which
Firestone leased, and on forest, river and land which Stettinius
and his associates controlled forever.
He said, “I am not sure I am right, but I feel as though I was
returning home as a missionary from Africa to America.”
He and Sojourner came back to talk about what was happening
in Africa and what might happen to the colored people in the
United States. It was a great event for Judge Mansart and his
wife in New York. And in Macon President Mansart and Jean
celebrated the return by a concert featuring African music which
Sojourner conducted.
The Potsdam conference, the second peace effort of the re-
organized world came just as President Mansart returned from


230
WORLDS OF COLOR
San Francisco. Jean noted with distress that Truman, utterly
ignorant of foreign affairs, was himself going to replace Roosevelt
at the conference table, taking with him as Secretary of State,
Byrnes of South Carolina.
“Byrnes? Isn't he a rabid enemy of our people?"
"Certainly. Remember how he defended lynching in Congress?
But worse than that he is the last man to deal with the Russians.
He was trained to despise workers, black and white."
“But Roosevelt liked him!”
“Yes, but as administrator in the war effort at home-never as
negotiator with Stalin.”
So it happened and Mansart saw the peace conference turn
into the beginnings of new war. Atlee displaced the astonished
and disgrunted Churchill, but Churchill made friends with Tru-
man and flattered him. The war of worlds was reborn because
Truman held the greatest secret of the modern world. It gave
him a power which drove him wild. He was sure the United
States was master of the universe. At Potsdam he only whispered
it but the arrogance with which he conducted himself was un-
bounded.
The United States had the secret of splitting the atom and
releasing its giant energy. Where Roosevelt would have shuddered
before this power and stood humble before his terrible responsi-
bility, Truman got arrogant and Byrnes "got tough"! It had
been agreed by the victorious powers to disarm Germany and make
her pay indemnity for ruling half the world. But the United
States did not mean to keep its word. It had started on another
path. A week later, without warning, American planes dropped
on the unarmed women and children of Hiroshima and Nagasaki
in Japan, a frightful catastrophe, killing 150,000 persons and
maiming others to the second and third generation. It was the
most awful deliberate mass murder that modern civilization
had ever seen. It smashed Japan and made Soviet aid to America
unnecessary.
Truman and Churchill immediately determined to crush Com-
munism and regain control of the Baltic states, and eventually
of Russia. This program Churchill soon published in the United
States at the invitation of his new friend, Truman. Truman
found himself in the powerful hands of a new regime; the big


The Nations Unite
231
bankers, spokesmen for the New York Stock Exchange, the life
insurance, steel, oil, railroad, and automobile interests entered
his cabinet. Lend-Lease to Russia was stopped, payment for it
was demanded and loans refused for restoration of the ally who
had won the war for the West at terrible sacrifice. Already, Truman
knew he had China, led by Chiang Kai-shek and the Soongs, in
his pocket.
One other thing Jean made President Mansart think of, partly
because due to convention he had ignored it, but also because
it seemed to her really important.
She said, “Joe Louis has been in the front lines entertaining
the soldiers.”
Mansart listened. Of course he knew about Joe Louis. Louis
had been a new person in the Negro world, of whom President
Mansart heard while in Germany-and tried to forget. But on
his return, he found that ignoring Joe Louis was impossible.
Joe Louis loomed in the nation, in the world, and was without
doubt regarded by public opinion as the greatest man in the
Negro race. He was both hero and legend-this poor, unlettered
Negro boy from the plantation slums of Alabama, who had not
spent a single day in school and had worked like a dog for Henry
Ford.
Then the sportsmen and gamblers saw his magnificent bronze
body; under their guidance he had through sheer skill and dogged
endurance risen to be first Boxer of the world. His vast strength,
carefully trained and artfully guided, had knocked out Carnera
the Giant, Braddock the American, and Schmelling the German,
in good, clean fighting. Mansart knew this was not the greatest
career for a man, but who could stand and protest in a world of
war not only not clean but unfair, deceptive, dirty? If they didn't
like Joe's profession, why didn't they train him for another? In
his sphere he achieved greatness.
Then too, Joe Louis with his silent, expressionless face,
traveled 30,000 miles to entertain the distraught soldiers of world
catastrophe.
Jean said, “He should have a Congressional Medal.”
Mansart was silent. He had never countenanced boxing in his
school. He had never mentioned Joe Louis in his talks to the


232
WORLDS OF COLOR
students. He felt guilty. In this rotten world Joe stood high
among men!
Bishop Wilson and President Mansart talked earnestly about
what was happening in the United States. Greater civil rights
for Negroes seemed certain although the President was still doing
little to implement his promises. There was aid for Turkey and
Greece, or was it for control of oil in the Middle East-oil for
war in face of the world cry for peace? In China our State De-
partment was boosting and aiding Chiang Kai-shek. Was that
truly aiding China?
Above all, the Bishop wondered about the Union of Soviet
Socialist Republics.
“I cannot believe that Communism is simply a conspiracy."
"Nor," said Mansart, “do I. But are you quite fair to American
Big Business? I realize what a marvellous technique we have, what
tremendous factories and industries. We must give credit and
much power to the creators of this industrial miracle."
“Yes, indeed we must, but we must not let American business
choke us, destroy our souls, prevent democracy and ruin taste
and art. Mass production is too often mass slavery and stoppage
of progress. Americans used to be able to choose different types
of autos. Now they are all alike. Shoes have not altered since
1700; they are still wide at the heel and narrow at the toe,
while the human foot is just the opposite. In clothes, homes,
buildings, individual taste is captive to profits for mass manu-
facture. There can be no mending, patching or repairing; we throw
away shirts, trousers, pots and pans, waste wool, tin, copper, and
steel to rape more from the earth for more private profits. We
build roads for speed not for scenery; we erect buildings for floor
space not for comfort. We hold inventions off the market if they
threaten profits. We use patents for monopoly, not to encourage
ability and genius. We are slaves of our industry instead of its
masters. Is this necessary? Can we not improve it? And must we
fight the Soviets to help ourselves and the world?”


CHAPTER XV
THE ATTACK ON MANSART
The luncheon at the Womens Club in Atlanta, in the fall of
1950, was most successful. There were six persons present-all
white of course, three of them Southerners. Clair, the representa-
tive of the new Maloney Fund said, as the coffee came, that his
fund would gladly give $50,000 now for a new study of American
Negroes and more if needed. He was a Northern man of sixty
who had just retired from automobiles and entered philanthropy.
The white Southern college president, a vivid man of 45, explained
that his institution would undertake the research.
"Fine," said the politician, now 37 and sure to be the next
governor of the state. "For a time the Negroes controlled the
study of their race in America, and they put out some vicious
propaganda; which, even if true, was bad for publicity for the
South and for the white race. We can now know the truth and
publish as much of it as is good, and color it our way.".
Clair looked a bit uneasy, and the President hastened to ex-
plain that naturally the work of investigation would be strictly
scientific,
Mrs. Emery, a clubwoman, interrupted. “Naturally, naturally;
who could doubt that! Yet, it is better to have reports made with
some reference to our good name and recognition of our intentions.
The world must not continue to think that the chief industry
of the South is lynching."
The Northern sociologist remarked: “And it is the Negroes'
own fault that their studies were given up. Atlanta University
started them in 1897, dropped them in 1915, tried to revive them
in 1938 and then let them lapse entirely. Of course, white students
can do them much better."
“Now,” said the chairman, “this is the situation. Negroes
have been complaining of not getting their share of educational
expenditures, state and federal. It was true. But a determined
effort is being made to remedy this. Unless it succeeds, this race
233


234
WORLDS OF COLOR
arationem, of clared, If it come but we
sepuble systemery decaded, Hastily, Bual systeriologist
separation in schools will lapse because of lack of funds for a
double system, or even by court decision.”
Mrs. Emery declared, “That must never be!"
The politician added, "If it comes, the South will rebel!"
"Oh no!” said Clair hastily, “but we must get enough funds
to meet the cost of equal educational systems."
“It will take a lot,” volunteered the sociologist.
“At any rate, we must try,” said the politician. “Our state of
South Carolina is leading and will persist.”
“Already,” added the chairman, “we have enough figures to
send out a report which will show that the two systems are so
rapidly approaching equality that complaint will soon be abso-
lutely unjustifiable.”
"Splendid,” said several. And Clair added, “Make it a book.
We'll give it wide circulation."
"Suppose, however,” said the sociologist, "that the Supreme
Court should forbid public school segregation?"
The politician was firm. “They'll never do it. Or if by unthink-
able chance they do, it'll be a four-five decision and immediately
reversed. Moreover, the ‘niggers' themselves don't want integrated
schools. The black teachers would lose their jobs and the black
children suffer hell!”
The college president demurred. “It is true that no decisive
Supreme Court edict is probable, but in the unlikely case it came,
then remember that Negro opinion would force all Negroes to
demand the right. They have been yelling for equality too long
to refuse it when offered.”
The sociologist again ventured advice. “Remember, however,
that if equality keeps on being refused, the Communists will
continue to make capital out of this and the Negroes will more
and more listen to them. Moreover, we'll continue to build up a
dangerous group solidarity right within our borders based on that
very race pride which we have preached and they have lately ac-
cepted. I tell you, they've got us over a log."
Mrs. Emery sniffed. “You are giving Negroes too much credit
for brains. Think of what will happen if the Supreme Court
should be so crazy as to order integration of the schools,the
Negroes could then blackmail us into complete social equality on
pain of going Communist.”
e capien. Mocht withched at


The Attack on Mansart
235
Both Mr. Clair and the college president intervened.
“There's not the slightest chance that the Supreme Court will
interfere with the present long-established pattern of race separation
in the United States. We now have only to see that school appro-
priations become more equitable and that this is widely known."
The president, however, added thoughtfully, “Of course, we
are facing the upsurge of the colored peoples and we cannot mini-
mize that fact. Britain has freed India. Who would have dreamed
that ever possible! China has the bit in her teeth. This country
must see that she drops it soon. It was a mistake for America and
Britain to assume that the fall of Japan left China helpless in
their hands if power stayed in the grasp of Chiang Kai-shek, their
puppet. Silently, irresistibly, China arose. No power or plot of
America sufficed to hold her and the arms furnished Chiang
dropped into the hands of the Communists. I am not so certain
as some that Formosa can be depended on. Of course, the Chinese
Republic will eventually fail."
"It won't fail!” The gruff interruption came from the oil
millionaire, Vanderburg. He had been expected to be present and
to flaunt his power; but as usual he was late-he was used to
having people wait for him. “China won't fail in our day and
Chiang is finished. The Supreme Court is bound to stop segre-
gation-if not this year, then soon. We've just got to give up this
foolish notion that we have the earth by the tail or that we own
all the brains. We don't. 'Niggers' and 'Chinks' are as smart as
we if they have the chance. What we've got to do is to see they don't
get that chance.
"Continued segregation here in the United States means in-
evitably building a closely integrated group with leaders, organiza-
tions, plans. This mustn't happen. We've got to integrate 'Niggers'
into our group and work them into positions under us, but below
policy making and giving orders. We've got to cut down, for
instance, the power of these Land-Grant college presidents and
keep power in our own hands to be carried out by our own
puppets, in place of the present gang who've got too much brains.
I've just got myself elected to the Board of the State College at
Macon. I'm going to get rid of Mansart. Don't fool yourselves--
unless we're smart the darkies of the world are going to give us
hell. We didn't lose China; China kicked us out.” And Vander-


236
WORLDS OF COLOR
burg, with an abrupt nod here and there, marched out.
The group was astonished, but their convictions were not
altered at all by this outburst.
Clair smiled deprecatingly. "I'm afraid our friend exaggerates."
"He certainly does," echoed the college president, while the
sociologist disdainfully sniffed. The meeting closed after a few more
pleasant exchanges and encouraging remarks. As they drifted out,
Mrs. Emery shook out her gown and eased her girdle. Pursing
her rather full lips, she let fall a few words out of the side of her
mouth into the receptive ear of the politician.
"I understand that Vanderburg's high opinion of Negroes ex-
tends even to their women's beds."
Meantime, down in Macon signs multiplied of coming trouble
for President Mansart's administration. Though he had not for-
gotten it, he did not let his mind dwell on an occurrence at the
first Board meeting following his return from San Francisco. A
well-signed petition was brought before the Board demanding a
stadium in which competitive athletic games could be played.
Manuel had never encouraged athletics and was particularly op-
posed to intercollegiate sports. This attitude was not unrelated
to his memory of his son, Bruce.
Sports brought a species of inter-racial mingling which he
feared. The white people of Macon, especially the merchants and
white collar workers, were starved for entertainment and flocked
to the colored games. There, separate seats had to be furnished
and some of the local citizenry thus had their feelings of race
superiority prodded. Incidents of race clashes occurred frequently;
they were seldom serious, but Manuel disliked the situation.
Also, it seemed to him unusual that this petition, signed in
the main by his own college alumni, instead of being brought
to his attention first, came up in the Board from the hands of
a white oil man from Texas-Vanderburg.
Betty Lou Baldwin had died in 1947. Just before her death,
she had summoned a cousin of her daughter-in-law, from Texas.
Her son John was failing in health and her grandson, Lee,
needed more guidance than his mother could give. Betty Lou
thought that Vanderburg, as the nearest male relative, represent-
ing the tremendous industrial upsurge of the Southwest in
she hatty Lou Baldrom Texasup in the Bostead of being signed in


The Attack on Mansart
237
chemicals, sulphur and especially in oil-with its tax-free bon-
anza-might be a good influence to introduce into the Baldwin
family and its many interests.
Vanderburg acquiesced. He opened an office in Atlanta, became
a director of Baldwin's bank, and was soon elected to the Board
of Trustees of the Colored State College. Then Betty Lou died,
not exactly in peace but at least not without hope.
John Baldwin had by no means retired, but he was glad to
give up smaller duties to others, and his family relations were
far from pleasant. Vanderburg quickly took over supervision of
the state school, although Baldwin continued to visit it now
and then.
Vanderburg had ideas about Negro colleges. One of them
concerned Negro athletics and he accompanied his proposal and
petition for a stadium by a gift of oil bonds with a face value
of $100,000. Such a gift had to be received with thanks. Mansart
put the bonds in the college safe and took no immediate action.
Mansart's calls away from the college were, as he knew, getting
to be too many and he meant to curtail them. But another an-
nual meeting of the presidents of the colored Land-Grant colleges,
to be held in Atlanta, was coming up, and he felt obliged to
attend. He felt he wanted to consult his collegues on many
urgent problems of which inter-collegiate athletics was one. He
hurried off to Atlanta.
The day after he departed, a woman entered the Dean's
office with a letter of introduction from the benevolent oil man.
She was a light mulatto, striking in appearance, well-dressed, and
carried herself with assurance. Her English was perfect and she
evidently had a keen, well-trained mind. She said, after greetings:
"I was sent by Mr. Vanderburg. Some time ago I applied for
a position as teacher here."
Jean remembered that Vanderburg in 1949 had pressed the
appointment of Mrs. Grey to the faculty to teach social science.
The matter had been postponed for further inquiry. Mrs. Grey
had a master's degree from Chicago and seemed well qualified.
But social science was Jean's own field and she had no wish to
share it. She was easily able to do all the work of the department,
even after her appointment as dean. But this was because the world
war had stopped the development of her cherished Plan of Social


238
WORLDS OF COLOR
Study by the Land-Grant colleges. When and if this plan was
revived, as she was determined it should be, Jean would have
little time for undergraduate teaching and another teacher would
be needed.
All this flashed through Jean's mind as she looked Mrs. Grey
over. She did not like her. Why, it would have been hard to say.
But hitherto the faculty had been carefully chosen and was on
the whole harmonious. Friction, of course, had arisen here and
there from temperment, envy, and ambition. But Mansart's char-
acter, backed by his great influence and Jean's advice and knowl-
edge, had kept relations pretty good-with one exception. At the
time the President had gone to Chicago and thence to the UNO
in San Francisco, an appointment had been made in “Business”
which Jean still regretted.
John Jacobs was quiet and presentable, but he was not in-
terested in the school as an institution of learning. He might be
playing a part for forces outside-of this Jean was not sure. She
could not confirm her suspicions and planned to talk to Mansart
about it. Meantime, under pressure from the white members of
the Board, Jacobs became bursar of the college. He was a thin,
dark man, unobtrusive and accurate, and taught bookkeeping.
His wife was a silent, black, mouselike little woman.
Yet Jacobs did not exactly fit in. He seemed to feel that his
office was not accorded the recognition it merited. As bursar, he
felt he should be consulted more often on major policy decisions.
Jean saw that there was some basis for this complaint. The
President and she had long been accustomed to run things with-
out much outside consultation; because they understood each
other so thoroughly and agreed so completely on policy, further
consultation seemed unnecessary. If Jacobs had been more com-
panionable and had evidenced a deeper understanding of college
problems, he might easily have grown to occupy a more important
place. But because of his attitude toward the institution as a
machine rather than a group of human beings and his slow,
reserved, almost sensitive ways, it became customary on the part
of Jean and President Mansart to ignore or even forget him.
The proposed appointment of Mrs. Grey had been pressed
lately but decision had been avoided only because of Jean's in-
sistence that the President had not yet had time to reach a con-


The Attack on Mansart
239
clusion. No appointment had ever been made by the Board
without his recommendation. Vanderburg was nettled and showed
it, but the Board had too high an opinion of Mansart to rush the
matter through.
Meantime, Jean tried to obtain some information concerning
Mrs. Grey, and, quite accidentally, found it in the story of a
student. This student had been employed during the summer in
the office of Mr. Vanderburg in Atlanta. He assured Jean that
Mrs. Grey was a frequent visitor there and that there was much
talk about her. No, he could not obtain testimony or sworn
statements, but her general reputation was not what one would
call good.
This information Jean relayed to President Mansart. He had
made up his mind what he was going to do. There was no use
resorting to detectives and secret photography or similar methods.
On the contrary, he made up his mind that a visit to Mrs.
Vanderburg in Atlanta would not be amiss. He telephoned for
an appointment, identifying himself as president of the State
College.
She was surprised to find him colored. So far as she remembered,
no colored man of this type had ever asked to call upon her.
But she was not narrowly prejudiced and, after all he was from
the college in Macon. She was interested. She received him at
the front door but seated him in the hall; she continued with
the burnishing of her nails during the conversation.
"President Mansart,” she said after he had explained his
visit, “you have asked me something that ordinarily I would not
talk about. And yet, I do think that you need protection in this
case. Mrs. Grey, to be quite frank, is a bitch. She and my husband
for some years have been, shall we say, seeing a good deal of each
other. She is a brilliant woman, and besides entertaining him she
does dirty work of various kinds for him. Ordinarily, she would
be about the last person to have at your school.
“On the other hand, let me give you a frank piece of advice.
If you don't have her, you'll have someone else. This is the great
age of spying and lying. They're going to plant somebody there
to find out about you or to make up plausible fairy tales. It


240
WORLDS OF COLOR
might be the wise thing for you to accept a person whom they
nominate and whom you know.
“Thank you for calling." And Mrs. Vanderburg arose.
As they walked toward the door, she said, "You will, of course,
wonder why I endure Mrs. Grey. The reason is simple. By not
interfering with my husband's affairs in business or love I keep
my own freedom. I associate with such persons as I wish, I spend
as much money as I want to, and I go where and when I will.
Of course, I could imagine something much finer than this with-
out money and without freedom, but the choice has not been
given me. I trust you understand, President Mansart?”
President Mansart said he did, and thanked her humbly. And
the appointment of Mrs. Grey to the Department of Sociology
in the Georgia State Colored College went through. From then on,
President Mansart and Jean made it their business to give much
more careful and concentrated attention to the college and to the
currents within it of opposition and disintegration. First of all,
the stadium must be built. All his fellow-presidents had advised
this for many and differing reasons; not least among which was
the unusual gift of bonds. Unobtrusively, Mansart had plans drawn
and surveys made.
Meantime, Mrs. Grey moved swiftly. She organized her pro-
gram of teaching and taught well; she learned all she could about
the college, its personel, their relations. It occurred to her, or was
suggested, that John Jacobs, the bursar of the State College, might
be useful for some of the plans she had in mind. Vanderburg was
impatient. He had an over-simplified idea of public institutions
and of state officials. He was in a hurry to locate the graft in this
college-who got it, how it was worked, by whom. He had no
doubt that Mansart was getting more than his small salary-other-
wise he was a fool.
Vanderburg wanted to increase his control over the college.
Its funds, its attendance and its reputation were growing. Up to
this time, nothing wrong financially had been discovered. The
college was well-run, although its accounting methods were not
exactly up-to-date. Still, there was no patent dishonesty. On the
other hand, if there really was no dishonesty, then it must be
manufactured-and Mansart removed.
Mrs. Grey soon observed that Jacobs, the bursar, was not


The Attack on Mansart
241
hapancial of
happy. He was quiet, unnoticed, usually alone. Mansart ran the
financial affairs of the college himself, with Jacob's role limited
to that of top clerk. Nevertheless Jacobs did retain certain
responsibilities. He kept accounts, had access to important papers
and to the safe. Mrs. Grey, therefore, made a distinct set for
Jacobs, which was something so unusual in his life that it almost
frightened him.
He lived in a home in the surburbs of Macon, back of the
college-a nice site but undeveloped. The house was old-fashioned,
comfortable, but in no way striking. It was a simple, two-story
residence built on stilts in the Southern style and without a
cellar. His wife, a meek, dull-faced brown woman, obeyed her
husband without question. She kept house well, was a good cook
and punctual, but neither did nor said anything out of the
ordinary.
Mrs Grey began to put her plans into effect. First, after an
apparently fruitless search for lodgings, she proposed to make
her home at Jacobs' house. He was pleased, but for that purpose
Mrs. Grey asked that the second story be substantially rebuilt
and refurnished. Under her guidance, this was tastefully and
comfortably done, but it called for more money than Jacobs
could spare. Mrs. Grey gladly loaned him the money on his
note. She then proposed that he ought to build a basement and
furnish a playroom where he could entertain his friends and neigh.
bors at cards. She had in mind the need for a place where meetings
might take place far from the attention of the public, colored or
white.
Again Jacobs hesitated, and again Mrs. Grey was accommo-
dating. She managed, without commitment of any definite word
or gesture, to make him begin to think of the possibility of
something romantic entering into his bleak life, even daring to
believe that this very elegant and striking woman was actually
personally interested in him, and that somehow, a future life
might be shared between them. He hastened to agree to her play-
room, but had to borrow so much more money to build it that
without realizing it his promissory notes were soon transformed
into a sizeable mortgage. His wife signed the mortgage without
reading it and without asking questions.
A cellar was dug beneath the home, and a cement foundation
Entering in to think of any definiccommo.


242
WORLDS OF COLOR
and tile floor and walls put in. It was nearly finished save on
one side where the tile had reached only half-way up to the
ceiling. There was left between it and the yard a wide, excavated
hole. This was to be finished in the next few days.
It was at this stage that Mrs. Grey found an opportunity to
sit down in the cellar and speak confidentially with Jacobs,
beginning to unfold her further plans. She did not realize that
her voice could easily be heard through the thin partitions of
the floor of the kitchen where Jacobs' dull-faced wife sat sewing.
Mrs. Grey was encouraging Jacobs to talk about his position
and duties. Yes, he kept books-that was about all. He did not
sign checks. He was seldom called in to discuss plans such as,
for instance, the projected stadium.
"Where, by the way,” asked Mrs. Grey, “are those bonds kept
that were given to build the stadium?"
"In the safe, or at least they were.”
"You have the key or combination?"
"Yes, and so do the President and Dean."
Mrs. Grey hummed. Then she said, “John-- Oh, pardon me
for using your name. ..."
Jacobs assured her it was a pleasure to hear her call him by
his first name. She proceeded.
“John, have you by chance noticed the daily quotations on
these particular oil bonds?".
Jacobs had never noticed the prices of bonds of any sort, and
said so.
"Well, these bonds are steadily rising in price. Moreover, you
know that I have inner sources of information. These bonds
will continue to rise markedly for another week; then they will
suddenly drop to a very low point.”
“But--"
"Wait; when they are at or near their highest, if the bonds
were in my hands for say, 24 hours, I could clean up from fifteen
to twenty thousand dollars and restore the bonds intact. But their
value would be by that time far below par and the college would
lose money. It might later leak out that somebody had meantime
made money on them. The President or even that prissy Dean
might be suspected.”
Jacobs looked scared. Mrs. Grey continued.


The Attack on Mansart
243
"They couldn't suspect you for the deal would be carried out
in Atlanta while you would be here. Moreover, in any case you
would be protected by powerful friends whom I know. Suppose
now you secure those bonds and put them in my hands for 24
hours?"
"They'd never think of President Mansart's taking them if
he denied it; he's absolutely honest. He'd vouch for the Dean."
“Of course. But he might be accused of criminal carelessness
in the handling of bonds destined for a project which he never
favored."
“I suppose so."
"Certainly so. It would hasten Mansart's retirement. And,”-
Mrs. Grey leaned nearer and lowered her voice-“John, as he goes
out we move in, understand?” Her bosom touched his chest;
her lips, subtly perfumed, brushed his cheek. There surged in him
a rush of passion such as he had never known before.
“Listen, John,” she said, “I want you to take those bonds and
give them to me.”
“And go to jail for theft?”
"Certainly not. Mansart is responsible for the bonds, even
though you and that Dean have access to the safe. But it is
Mansart who alone is responsible. If the bonds disappear, he will
be the last to accuse or suspect either of you. You will not have
left Macon. He will suspect thieves, and the Board will, at the
least, accuse him of carelessness, especially since he opposed the
gift.”
“But suppose the bonds are traced to you?”
“They won't be. I shall leave Macon Friday and not be seen
until Monday afternoon at my one o'clock class. I'll slip back
Saturday night and get the bonds from you. No one will see me
but you. I shall take the bonds to Atlanta and hand them to
Mr. Vanderburg who gave them to the college. I assure you,
dear John, no one will suffer for the disappearance of these bonds
but Mansart.”
Jacobs, the sweat streaming down his face, promised to "think
it over.” Mrs. Grey gave him a week; then they talked again.
Jacobs had not been consulted by the President and the Dean
as to the future stadium or their plans. He felt more affronted
than usual. Mrs. Grey took his hand and said:


244
WORLDS OF COLOR
"Listen John. I am going to Atlanta this weekend on some
business. After I have gone, not before, just open the safe and
take out those bonds. I will slip back secretly and take the bonds
back to Atlanta."
"Why go away at all?".
“So that I cannot be connected with the disappearance of the
bonds if discovered, and you cannot be connected with me!"
Jacobs was afraid, but the idea kept turning over in his mind
until Mrs. Grey went north on a Friday afternoon. The next
night she was to return secretly.
Meantime Jean, almost by accident, had noted the rise in oil
bond quotations in the morning papers, in the course of checking
some of their bond holdings. She waited until the lunch hour
when the executive offices were empty and then, securing the
bonds, compared notes. The bonds they held were quoted cur-
rently at 117. If they were going to Auctuate like that, she
thought, they should be sold. She hurried over to the president's
home and interrupted his nap.
"We should sell those bonds today. If they drop, we will be
held responsible for any loss."
“But we cannot sell here. Atlanta is the only market with
New York connections."
“Tomorrow is Friday. Suppose I drive up to Atlanta tonight
and go to Baldwin's bank tomorrow morning. When the Board
meets Tuesday we'll not only have plans ready for the stadium
but $117,000 cash with which to build it.”
Mansart agreed and Jean went to Atlanta late that afternoon.
On the following Saturday night the little dull-faced wife of
John Jacobs was sitting in her living room motionless. Sometime
after dark she heard the gate open and saw Mrs. Grey slip softly
through it. She used her key to enter the front door, then went
down to the playroom to see how matters stood. She looked at her
watch, wandered about, then got up on the scaffolding where the
tile foundation was being finished, to look over into the open
hole. Suddenly from behind came first a gentle and then a strong
push. She fell headlong into the hole and on her fell a wheel-
barrow of cement intended for use in finishing the wall.
The little brown woman went swiftly upstairs and outdoors.
She began shoveling dirt into the hole. She worked furiously


The Attack on Mansart
245
ched for about
the con
for four hours until she had covered the wheelbarrow and cement
and reached almost to the height of the wall. Within the hole
there was no sound or motion. Then she went back into the
house and took Mrs. Grey's handbag, searched for her keys, went
to her room and found the mortgage. She burned it in her
stove.
Jacobs came home quite late. He did not bring the bonds.
He had opened the safe soon after the President and Dean had left
Friday afternoon. He often stayed to clean up odds and ends of
the day's work. Slipping his hands quietly into the safe he
reached for the bonds. They were not in their accustomed place.
He looked about. He could not find them. Perhaps they had
been taken out for the committee meeting Tuesday, he thought,
and left carelessly on the President's desk. He could not find them
there and did not dare force the lock. Besides, this was unlikely
and the President had said nothing.
Reluctantly, Jacobs left and locked the safe. He was almost
afraid to face Mrs. Grey, but the fault was not his. He realized
more and more that what he had tried to do might, if he had been
successful, have put him in jail, and certainly would have ruined
President Mansart. His feeling for Mrs. Grey was strong, even
tumultuous. But he was not a fool. He resolved to go no fur-
ther with this extraordinary plan. He lingered in town, went to
a movie and finally returned home late. Mrs. Grey was not there.
Finally, he woke his sleeping wife.
“Mrs. Grey come yet?”
“No," she said.
“Heard nothing from her?"
“Not a word.”
He waited for Mrs. Grey until nearly dawn. Still she did not
come.
“That's queer,” he said, and reluctantly went to bed. It re-
mained queer. Nothing more was ever heard of Mrs. Grey.
Vanderburg, awaiting her in Atlanta, was beside himself. When
he arrived for the Board meeting Tuesday he summoned Jacobs,
after failing to find Mrs. Grey.
"Where's Althea-Mrs. Grey?" :
Jacobs said he did not know, and then seeing the rage on


246
WORLDS OF COLOR
Vanderburg's face he blurted out the whole plot which he was sure
Vanderburg already knew.
Vanderburg yelled: “But the bonds were sold Friday in Atlanta
at the top of the market. Today they're down to 87 as I planned
they would be. Where the hell is Althea? Has she been mur-
dered and the bonds stolen?”
"That Dean got them bonds and sold them,” said Jacobs.
"She must have murdered Mrs. Grey and stole the premium.”
“All right, when she reports to the Board today we'll know."
Jacobs went as Vanderburg stormed out. But the Board meet-
ing revealed nothing except completed plans for the delayed
stadium. The Dean reported that she had sold the bonds at a
premium at Mr. Baldwin's bank in Atlanta Friday morning and
that the college had $117,000 on hand for the stadium building
fund. Vanderburg sat dumb. He could not ask how the Dean
got the bonds from Mrs. Grey; he was naturally not supposed to
know Mrs. Grey ever had the bonds, if indeed she ever had.
Whether she had or had not, she had been foully done away with.
He sought out Jacobs who was equally distraught. He had
never given Mrs. Grey the bonds for they were gone Friday night
when he tried to get them. But Mrs. Grey-poor Mrs. Grey had
met foul play. But how, where and from whom?
The college and President, especially the Dean, made every
effort to trace Mrs. Grey, without success. Her car was safe in her
garage. Had she gone to Atlanta by train? The train hands had
not seen her and she was a noticeable figure in the "jim-crow"
car. Where had she gone and when?
Vanderburg was suspicious of everybody. He quickly sent for
private investigators from New York. They searched Mrs. Grey's
office. They searched Jacob's house from cellar to attic; they
tore her bedroom apart. They ransacked her car. Mrs. Grey was
never found. Also, to Jacobs' unanswerable distress, no record
was ever found of the mortgage which she held on his house. It
had never been registered nor was payment ever demanded.
But always John Jacobs waited for her. He glimpsed her in
crowds or dissolving in the darkness of night. The play room
was finished and Mrs. Jacobs kept it immaculate. But no com-
pany was invited in. Often Jacobs sat there alone in the dim light.


248
WORLDS OF COLOR
the U.S. Why? It must be treachery-betrayal! Washington
swung around just in time to hear that Russia already had the
atom bomb. That was it. That explained all, and the only answer
was war and war now!
Truman's Secretary of Defense, heading an irresistible war ma-
chine capable of immeasurable destruction-this man who stood for
ships, planes, guns and atom bombs and who represented one of the
world's greatest owners and purveyors of capital, the Dillon-Read
bank, ran half naked along the streets of Washintgon shrieking,
"The Russians are coming!” and when taken into custody leaped
from a sixteenth-story window. Paul Robeson, forty years before,
had broken Forrestal's nose in a football game.
It looked as though with Forrestal, the President and the whole
nation winced. The State Department formed NATO to build
within the United Nations an inner bastion against the Soviet
Union; Churchill was invited to egg our students on to war. The
Marshall Plan was set up to rescue European capital from loss by
war and the demands of labor unions. Then, the government
turned back to its home front with fury: eleven Communist lead-
ers were sent to jail for no crime but thought of what might lead
to crime; ten Hollywood writers were sent to jail on charge of
perjury; the persecution of Alger Hiss was unleashed..
The nation-the thinking nation revolted. The best of our
thought and will lent their names to a national call against war,
and tried to gather in New York the best intellects of all the world
to plead and argue for peace. This seemed to President Mansart
so obvious a move that he gladly accepted an invitation to attend.
In a great meeting like this-held at the Waldorf-Astoria-here, he
was sure, was the solution. It conformed entirely to what he had
learned on his trip in 1936 and to what he had been trying to
preach and do since. First, Peace, and then increasing world un-
derstanding and realization of Life, Truth and Beauty.
It seemed to him that the conference at the Waldorf Astoria was
a tremendous success. But in the face of the bitter, hateful and
sudden flare of opposition which followed the universal attack, he
was left speechless. Why was it that New York and the nation ut-
terly repudiated this meeting of some of the greatest men of the
world? How could one of our greatest universities refuse to let
Shostakovich give a concert on its campus? If it was spontaneous
reaction, it was ominous. If it was planned propaganda, perhaps


The Attack on Mansart
249
that was even more threatening. He returned South in silent dis-
tress.
Somehow it seemed to him that his students as individuals, and
the seething dark millions back of them were melting away from
his touch, were getting further and further from his influence. Once
they were all his people. He had had his arms about them and
was protecting and guiding them. This was no longer true. Other
things, the world itself, had intruded, had come between him and
the Negro people. He had been sucked up into greater and wider
causes-Peace, Socialism, the meaning of all life. He wanted now
to rid himself of diversion and get back to the Negro problem, to
concentrate all his energy and hope there. And yet, if he and his
folk were part of this wider world, how could he or they ever
be really separate?


CHAPTER XII
THE DISMISSAL OF JEAN DU BIGNON
to prob to see had guidich fa
In the spring of 1949 Jean Du Bignon broached to President
Mansart the idea of her taking a trip to Europe. It was shortly
after the meeting at the Waldorf Astoria in New York, which had
taken place in March. Jean was far more upset by the extraordi-
nary repercussions of the meeting than was Mansart. She believed
she saw deliberate organized opposition to any effective peace move-
ment. If this were true, what was the reaction in the rest of the
world? She wanted to know and she was sure that America was
not prepared to tell her. She had received an invitation to a World
Council of the Partisans of Peace in Paris and suddenly here
seemed a chance at one time to probe the progressive forces of
the world and to fulfill her long wish to see the Europe of which
she had read so much and through which she had guided President
Mansart. He assented without question. Peace which failed in
New York might triumph in Europe. And so Jean Du Bignon sat
among the 2,000 people in the Salle Pleyel in April, 1949. She had
seen some of these types of peoples and races many times; but
these Africans, Algerians, South Americans, Moroccans—they were
not simply types for the inspection of Europeans,they were men
and women, talking, arguing, demanding Peace.
Jean stood and cheered wildly with other thousands when Paul
Robeson came striding across the hall from his concerts all over
Europe. It seemed to her so appropriate for him to declare: "My
people will never fight the Russians who have outlawed race preju-
dice!" The applause was tumultuous.
It was years before Jean realized the tremendous implication of
this statement if ever it was implemented. It meant the splitting
of eastern Europe from the white world and adding it to the power
of the colored world to assert autonomy and independence of Euro-
pean imperialism. It led later to a fierce persecution of Robeson
in America-almost to his crucifixion and the refusal to let him
230


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
251
travel abroad or to sing at home save under restrictions. This Jean
did not sense at the time, but she did later.
She began to realize almost shamefacedly how thoroughly White
and American she was in thought and reaction. That afternoon
she lunched with the Russian writer, Ilya Ehrenburg. She had met
him while he was traveling in the southern United States and they
had many notes to compare. As they were leaving the restaurant,
he asked:
“Have you seen Picasso's 'Guernica'?”.
She looked puzzled—“Guernica?”
He looked surprised and explained: “You know, the Spanish
town which was bombed."
She did not know; indeed, she realized she had not known
much. But now as she saw the mighty mural, she heard Ehrenburg
tell what civilization did to the struggling workers of Spain. Brit-
ain, France and the United States let these ragged, starving women
and children drown in their own blood, under the bombs of Hitler
and Mussolini. It was a horrible tragedy. It was obscene!
For the first time in her life, her loyalty to the land of her
birth faltered. She said nothing and would not see the tears in
Ehrenburg's eyes. They returned in silence to the Salle Pleyel and
she sought her seat. She sat a space in silence and found herself
listening in astonishment when a woman from Viet-Nam was called
to the rostrum. She looked like a rare and precious Chinese doll.
She seemed hardly more than fifteen, yet she was a matron and
talked the language of all civilization.
"Like other peoples," she cried, “the people of Viet-Nam want
no more war. They know too much of murder, ruin, devastation
not to long for Peace.”
Viet-Nam? What and where was Viet-Nam, Jean asked Gabriel
D'Arboussier as she listened. He was a dark West African. He
answered: “The people of Viet-Nam, like the peoples of Madagas-
car, Africa, Asia and Oceania, see in the new masque of the Franch
Union the old face of the French Empire. The Marshall Plan, the
Atlantic Pact and the proposed Pacific pact are all designed to dis-
tribute to France and other colonial governments, money which
enables them to hold, conquer and exploit their colonies.”
Jean sat perplexed. Like most Americans she had always re-
garded the Marshall Plan as an attempt to help the needy. She


252
WORLDS OF COLOR :
had never attempted to understand the Atlantic Pact. She had
thought of most of the world's peoples as backward, uncivilized,
perverse-problems of civilization and also victims. She could not
help but be thrilled when, knowing that Chinese and Korean dele-
gates had not been permitted to attend the Paris Congress, she
learned they were holding a simultaneous congress in Prague. She
rose with the delegates when the Prague Congress announced the
fall of Nanking.
It was the climax of the congress when over the wires came the
voices of that Congress sitting in Prague where 213 delegates from
18 nations, excluded by the fears of the French government, had
met in unison simultaneously to fulfill the world cry for Peace.
The voice of the leader of the Chinese delegation, Kuo-Mo-Jo,
thundered down the aisles and through the balconies of the Salle
Pleyel:
“We march! We will continue to march! We will march
around the world!”
Like many others, Jean's attention was centered on the Rus-
sians. In looks they were impressive: the white-crowned Metro-
politan; the madonna-like mother of two war heroes; the suave
writer, Fadeyev and the fiery Ehrenburg. She knew in a general
way why the United States disliked and feared Russia; but what
she was curious to know was why so many other countries, new
nations and little folk, Africans and Asiatics, seemed to place their
hopes for salvation on Communism.
The magnificent and awe-inspiring spectacle at the Buffalo Sta-
dium answered some of her queries. Here were massed at once
200,000 human beings, and at least 500,000 during the afternoon
passed through. It was not an organized spectacle. She was sure
that the Napoleons and the German Wilhelms had often offered
more grandiose and glittering performances. But she doubted
if ever before the mass of unorganized peoples had poured out
their hearts as strikingly and desperately in a plea for human
uplift. That cry for Peace rang in her ears for days and months.
She did some sight-seeing in south France, but had to hurry
for she had not much time. And then she had the good fortune
again to meet Ilya Ehrenburg. Ehrenburg beamed upon her in
his sort of enveloping and fatherly way and said,
"Why not look at the Soviet Union before you return?"


254
WORLDS OF COLOR
veterans and anti-Semitic hoodlums could reach with the aid
of the police. The friend wrote:
Hell was at work; cops, in a craze of hate, were
beating cars with their long clubs, smashing fenders,
lashing out against windshields, doing a dance of frenzy
as the autos rolled out of the place. Even through
our closed windows we could hear the flood of insanely
vile language from the police, the unprintable oaths:
"Jew, Kike, darky, Nigger!” The slime and filth of
America's underworld of race hatred compressed into
these "guardians” of the law. There were about thirty
police grouped there at the entrance, and they flogged
the cars as if the automobiles were living objects of
their resentment.
Policemen routed other cars through the woods where the
mob beat and wounded the hundreds who tried to drive home.
It was of this story that Mansart was reading when John
Baldwin of his Trustee Board was announced. Baldwin had not
visited the school or a Board meeting for a year. He was in bad
health and worse temper and asked the President peremptorily
about the rumor that the Dean, Jean Du Bignon, had gone to
a “Communist Peace meeting in Paris, and that the President him-
self had been at that Communist gathering at the Waldorf
in New York."
Mansart said that these visits had been made; but that neither
meeting was, to his knowledge, “Communist” and both were
most worthy of attending.
"You must realize, Mansart,” stormed Baldwin, “that things
in this country are coming to a showdown. We are going to stop
this Communism. We are going to turn this country back to
its normal path.”
Mansart interrupted: “Don't you think that what we have
called 'normal' is really abnormal? Wasn't the New Deal leading
us right?”
"No, it wasn't. It was interfering with private business."
“Which,” said Mansart, "had already been ruined by private
greed. Mr. Baldwin," he continued, "I'm an American just so
far as I am allowed to be by law and custom. I want the best for
greed. Mr. Baid Mansart, "hadering with private


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
255
America. I want America to be the best. But I don't like some
things in America and I don't like what some Americans do.
And I won't say I do. For instance, there's Ben Davis. I knew
him. I knew his father before him. When I was a student at
Atlanta University little Ben used to come daily to school. He
was a good boy. He grew up to be a good man, men black and
white tell me. He was one of the best councilmen New York
ever had.
“What Ben believed and what he planned, I do not know
and I do not care. He was not even accused of doing any wrong.
He had a right to believe in Communism. But to punish a man
not for what he did, not even for what he believed, but for what
his beliefs might lead to, was not justice. It was a crime.”
“Mansart, you are going too far."
“The Supreme Court went too far."
Baldwin scowled. “Mansart, we have been counting on the
southern Negroes as a conservative force in this country. We are
going to see that they are or we are going to smash them. I
have particularly depended upon you and you've done a good job.
Don't spoil it now. It was a mistake for you to attend that meet-
ing of fanatics in New York."
“But Mr. Baldwin, they were not fanatics. They were some
of our best Americans, and the foreigners-why we had a great
musician from Russia, with two authors, and men of science.”
Baldwin brushed all that aside. “They represented Com-
munism, and Communism has no place in the United States."
"I'm not saying that it has. I'm saying that we ought to have
a democratic exchange of ideas. This was stopped by a mob, and
normal exchange of ideas was absolutely prohibited. Imagine,
Shostakovich being refused the opportunity of giving a concert
on the Yale campus!”
“President Mansart, I am not going to discuss that with you
now. All I am going to say is this: it was a mistake for you to
go to New York. It was a greater mistake for that Du Bignon
woman to go to Paris, and as I understand, even to Russia. She
is a firebrand I am afraid, and we have got to get rid of her. Now
Mansart, if you want to play along with us we want you to re-
main here as president of this institution. Otherwise, we are go-
ing to get someone else. I want to make this plain to you. The
to get rid ofussia. She
along with
sident of the


256
WORLDS OF COLOR
Board has made up its mind." And Baldwin left.
Mansart was dismayed by this interview, yet the eruption in
1950 of the Korean war, possible prelude to a Third World
War, so utterly astonished him that he gave more thought to the
world situation than to the future of himself and his college. He
wrote letters, he attended meetings. He spoke, openly and freely,
and as he made his stand clear, the stand of his Trustee Board
and of the powerful interests in the country back of it hardened.
In several conferences Baldwin and other merchants and bankers
emphasized their point of view among themselves.
"The old plans,” said Baldwin, "which young William Bald.
win, president of the Long Island Railroad, expressed and em.
phasized in the South in 1900 were to develop Negroes as a sepa-
rate working force, with jobs different from that which the skilled
whites were going to do. Unorganized, uncontaminated with
foreign ideologies, they would balance each other so that we
could continue to have a cheap, efficient working force.
"Well, all that's gone out the window. It is impossible not to
realize now that Negroes are getting education; more than we
had planned and more than we can stop. Moreover, the whole
method of industry has so changed that the distinction between
ordinary labor and skilled labor is disappearing. It's labor, mass
production. Now what we have to look forward to is an inte-
grated labor force, white and black. There'll be opposition, and
we can use race prejudice to keep unionization and race inte-
gration at a minimum. But race distinctions which interfere
with industry eventually must go.
"What we've got to do is to see that in neither group of white
or colored labor do foreign radical ideas penetrate. We have got
to keep labor organization in hand and the labor unions down;
curtail their political power in such a way that this mis-called
Democracy disappears under the dictatorship of Big Business.
“I do not think that Mansart is going to play along. And
I know this all-too-influential white woman who is helping him
and who calls herself colored has got to go. Mansart's a good
man. We must keep him as long as possible. But we've got to
cut his nails and we've got to do that now."
Meantime Mansart, instead of listening to the gossip of what
the Trustee Board was thinking, and guiding his actions as he


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
257
was used to doing, was utterly upset by the drafting of his grand-
son Adelbert, Douglass' boy, who had graduated from the college
and who had become one of the assistants in the Little Theater.
Despite Mansart's influence, Adelbert was drafted and sent to a
camp in Biloxi, Mississippi, where the full force of Mississippi
race prejudice slapped him in the face. And then, soon after,
he was on his way to the mud and blood of Korea.
Manuel Mansart never, to the day of his death, could logically
and satisfactorily explain to himself the year of 1950. Sometimes
he thought it must have been the result of headstrong vagaries
of one man with power and responsibilities far beyond his brains
or education; then he shifted the blame to Truman's fastidious
and stiff-necked Secretary of State; at other times, he was sure
everything was the crime of that vast, crawling and spiderlike
octopus of industry and trade, held vise-like in a half dozen mag-
nificent ganglia of money and credit which almost owned and
certainly ruled a great part of the earth. Yes, this was the master
criminal-or was there no master-simply embodied, encysted Evil?
In December, 1949, the pale wraith of China became disem-
bodied from the enveloping mists of two years' strife. By January,
1950, most of the world had recognized a new republic in China.
America would not believe it. Too long had it held Chinese
in utter contempt. Could the great corporate business in Korea,
which the Japanese sold to Wall Street, have sent John Foster
Dulles to that front trench to watch over the tungsten deposits
which, in his fevered imagination, the North Koreans threatened?
So North Korea took up arms to stop the American agent,
Syngman Rhee, from marching north. Then Harry Truman
started what narrowly missed being World War III. It was,
as he said, his most important decision, when without authority
of any sort, on June 27, 1950, he ordered American troops to
"take police action” in a foreign land. He did not consult
Congress. He had no mandate from the United Nations. But the
United Nations, with the Soviet Union absent, consented eleven
hours after MacArthur was on the march, and Congress never
dared object.
So Harry Truman within a year sent 50,000 American boys
to their death, maimed a hundred thousand more, and plunged
Korea into a bloody hell that took at least 5 billion dollars in


258
WORLDS OF COLOR
suddenly, in his autocratic
the interv
the first year, from education, health and housing which the na.
tion sorely needed.
Jean returned from her trip abroad at the beginning of the
new school term in the Fall of 1950, and Manuel and the teach-
ers were deeply stirred by her reports. MacArthur had crossed
the 38th parallel and rushed to the Manchurian boundary where
he was not only bombing China but Russia. Jean pointed out
how seriously this changed the war and waited to hear how
China would answer. Evidently Washington was worried and
suddenly, in October, Truman rushed halfway round the world
to talk with his autocratic pro-consul.
According to the papers the interview was eminently satis-
factory and our troops kept rolling north, killing and spurting
flaming oil until, as it later was revealed, on November 24, Mac-
Arthur again threw his might across on the border.
Then it came, and to the astonishment of the world and the
rage of MacArthur, China struck back. In late November, six
thousand American and Korean troops lay dead and 32,000
wounded. On November 28, as MacArthur cried, it was indeed
a “New War." The United Nations army reeled back and ran.
The UN had opposed the United States drive across the Yalu,
and Attlee had rushed to Washington when Truman almost
nonchantly, had threatened use of the atom bomb. The UN
now asked for a “cease fire" and Truman declared a “National
Emergency.” The question of evacuating Korea entirely was dis-
cussed in Washington.
Jean gave her idea of the situation. "MacArthur was fright-
ened into panic and his army made the longest and most headlong
retreat that any American army ever made. Then MacArthur,
with his troops 70 miles below the 38th parallel, realized that the
Chinese had stopped following. They were not rushing to Pusan
and seeking to drive him into the sea.' No, they had stopped
at the 38th parallel and were ready for peace.”
The demand for peace was growing all over the world. Four
great Peace Congresses had been held in New York, Paris, Mos-
cow and Mexico in 1949 and 1950. The Stockholm Peace Appeal
had gone forth in March, and in April a Peace Information Bureau
had been established in New York. Its “Peace-grams” were flood-
ing the country and as the Korean war opened, 2,500,000 Ameri-


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
259
cans had already signed the petition against the use of the atom
bomb.
Five days after Truman opened the war, Acheson emitted a
blast against the Stockholm Appeal which the Peace Information
Bureau stoutly answered. It revealed that 200,000,000 people in
all parts of the world had signed this appeal, led by some of the
greatest personages of the day.
This was serious for MacArthur's plans. He was trying to
arouse the fighting spirit of America by luring the Chinese south
and then administering a smashing blow; or, if this led to further
defeat of his forces, he would secure for himself unlimited men
and war materials and carte blanche for further operations. For
this he wanted Chiang Kai-shek to come from Formosa and join
him on the mainland. The American phase of the war would
then be over. Most of his ground troops could go home. But
with American airplanes and artillery, and with atom bombs;
with Chiang's troops and the Chinese bound to flock to his ban-
ners once he reappeared, and with the American navy raking the
coast and wide rivers, he and his troops, backed by American
Business, would march into Manchuria, and then to Peking,
Nanking and Shanghai, and down to Canton.
Chiang, under expert guidance, would know how to wipe out
the peasants west of Hankow to Chungking and bomb them out
in Shensi and Szhechwan and even Sinkiang and Mongolia. At
last, Asia would succumb to America. But for this Chiang was
absolutely necessary; he would be the symbol for China, putting
down Communist rebellion, helped by American traitors. He
and his followers would know customs and language. MacArthur
insisted on Chiang and wrote not only to Truman and the Penta-
gon but to the powerful China Lobby, with its fat supply of
Soong funds; finally, he made the mistake of writing even to the
Republicans after their gains in the recent Congressional elec-
tions.
Meantime, as Jean pointed out, since the Chinese did not
fall eagerly into the trap MacArthur had so liberally baited by
evacuating Seoul and retiring toward Pusan, he adopted other
tactics. Having already express permission again to cross the 38th
parallel when he so decided, he clapped a deep censorship on


260
WORLDS OF COLOR
his movements. There ensued a pause of a month, when thoughts
of peace spread.
MacArthur tried to get the right to bombard Manchuria. He
did not succeed, but he got the right to cross the 38th parallel
again. Secretly in February he sent his troops across, and finding
no Chinese army he ordered the navy to bombard Wonson for
41 days, longer than any city had ever before in history been so
attacked. American flyers poured lead and flaming oil on unarmed
men, women and children until, as the triumphant admiral told
the press, “You cannot walk in the streets. You cannot sleep any-
where-unless it is the sleep of death.” The population became
“suicide groups" and Songjin and Chongjin, cities nearby, were
given the same treatment.
But in the narrow neck of Korea, MacArthur was held as by
a stone wall. Writhe as he would he could not advance north.
The Chinese Army, which he had enticed to Pusan, was at the
38th parallel and there it stayed. Then, Jean unfolded the morn-
ing paper and pointed to the astounding news that on April 11,
Truman had recalled MacArthur.
Mansart read the news in the utmost astonishment. “But why,
why?" he asked.
Jean explained. “Truman was in a jam. The little 'police
action,' which had looked like a fine piece of publicity ten months
ago, had now begun to be more than a hot potato. In the first
year, it had cost five billion dollars and involved seventeen nations
and 700,000 men. This was not merely a 'police action'—this was
heading to world war, as our allies were not slow to emphasize.
“The peace demand was growing right here in the United
States, as the elections showed. The atrocities of the war irked
Truman, but as the boasted soldier he thought he was, he would
not admit that. The cost of the war was making taxpayers
writhe, but he dared not yield to such considerations.
“MacArthur had impudently disobeyed his orders. This Tru-
man angrily denied. But when MacArthur appealed to Martin,
leader of the Republicans in the House of Representatives,
where the Democrats had only a majority of two-this, to Truman,
was political treason and he seized on it as an excuse."
Jean talked to Mansart as often as possible, not so much about
Paris and the peace movement as about the things she had seen


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
261
in Prague and Warsaw and particularly in Moscow. He listened
with interest but mounting distress. It was true, as Baldwin
had insisted. Jean was going radical. This would be a danger
to her and to the school. He must in some way talk this out with
her, and yet she was doing most of the talking, filled with the en-
thusiasm of what she had seen and learned. She talked freely
to him and to her students.
One morning in the fall of 1952, soon after Jean's return,
and as she was overflowing with her experiences abroad, a new
student, a tall, bright-eyed yellow boy in the back row of her class
asked, “Miss Du Bignon, what do you think of the Rosenberg
case?"
Jean had been reading since her return of the young
couple accused of treason. She was aghast as well as indignant.
She resented what seemed to her an attack on womanhood, an
affront to motherhood and especially a denial of the clear proc-
esses of justice. She spoke frankly and heatedly.
"I am amazed at this case. I am sure the accused will soon be
released. It involves first the right to think. Perhaps the Rosen-
bergs were Communists. I do not know. I do not care. I have
just returned from visiting a nation of Communists. I saw mil-
lions of fine people. I believe in freedom of thought no matter
what it believes. Actions alone are punishable, not beliefs.
“The Rosenbergs were decent people so far as all testimony
proves. They had studied together in school. They had fallen
in love and married, built a home, worked for a living and
brought up two fine boys. They are accused of conspiracy to com-
mit wartime treason in time of peace. The testimony against them
is from a confessed criminal, whose testimony was bought by
what I call bribery; that is, by a reduced sentence for confessed
wrong-doing.
“Just what the Rosenbergs are accused of actually doing is
not revealed. What was it? Was it anything they could have
done? What proof of their doing it exists, outside the word of
a criminal? What is 'conspiracy' to commit when commission
is not even alleged? This brutal sentence cannot stand, I am
sure."
There was silence a moment. Then the same boy asked,
“Do you think it was right to send Ben Davis to jail?"


262
WORLDS OF COLOR
otright here in Georg University, andaw at Har-
Jean hesitated a moment. Perhaps it was not wise to discuss
such matters in class. But why not? Was this not the place to
teach truth? If not, where? Jean said: “Ben Davis is a fine
man. He was born right here in Georgia, up in Dawson county;
he took his high school work at Atlanta University and then went
to college at Amherst, in Massachusetts. He studied law at Har-
vard. He secured the freedom of Angelo Herndon in Atlanta.
He served two terms in the city council of New York and did
excellent work.
"I have no doubt but that Ben Davis fears, just as you and I
often fear, that nothing but force will ever set our people free
in this land. At the same time, I'm sure that neither he nor
you ever laid plans or took action to start violent revolution.
He was never charged with that. He was charged with being a
member and official of the Communist Party, and that he freely
admitted.
“I have heard him thank the Communist Party for the way
it had treated him and for what he had learned from Communism.
But belief in Communism does not mean that all Communists
always believe in immediate revolution. They believe that there
are times when revolution is unavoidable, but not necessarily here
and now. A man's thoughts, his beliefs, are his own and he is
free to hold them. If at any time his thoughts lead him to illegal
actions, he must stand ready to take punishment, not for what he
thinks but for what he does. For these reasons I think Davis'
sentence and that of his fellows was unjust and unconstitutional."
When Miss Du Bignon finished her answer the new student
in the back stood up and quietly departed. He had only re-
cently enrolled and belonged to a well-known colored family in
Washington, D. C. His father had long been a clerk in the office
of the Attorney General. He ran through the corridors into the
street, caught a street car, left the car at the Union Station
and took a cab for the airport. A few hours later he was closeted
with officials in Washington.
Several months went by. And then one day Miss Du Bignon
was surprised to receive a visit from a Federal official who handed
her a summons. It seemed that she had been ordered by the
Attorney General in Washington to register as a foreign agent.
She was surprised and indignant. She immediately told the


264
WORLDS OF COLOR
"You have my word.”
“Then I advise you to refuse to register. I will associate myself
in your case, but not as chief counsel. President Mansart knows
well that my acting as counsel for his college has been no easy
job. It has cost me some clients and certain social losses. These
things I do not mind too much although my family sometimes com-
plains. For me not to act in this case would hurt you. But new
currents are moving in this nation and for that reason you must
hire as chief counsel someone better prepared to defend you. How
about Mansart's son in New York?”
Mansart wrote to Revels and asked his help. Revels stayed in
his office reading the letter and looking at the picture of his son
in flying uniform. Then he wired to Mansart and offered to take
the case. The Atlanta attorney was willing to associate himself
with Revels.
After a short interval, Jean was indicted by a federal grand
jury in Washington for refusing to register. It became clear that
the Justice Department was trying to prove that Jean had gone to
Paris to consult with the "Communist conspiracy”; that she had
then gone to Moscow for “orders” and that she had come back to
the United States to spread in her teaching and administration the
overthrow of the government of the United States. It was a fan-
tastic charge, but she had to go on trial.
Meantime Mansart had spent some time in Washington and
brought into the case as his personal assistant a young colored
woman recently admitted to the well-known firm of colored law-
yers, Cobb, Hayes and Howard. The young woman, tall, brown
and well-tailored, was frank. She said, “The Government has no
case and they know it, unless they bring in a hired informer to
swear that Miss Du Bignon is a Communist. There may be strong
influence back of this prosecution that demands conviction. If that
is true, then Miss Du Bignon will go to jail.”
"But can lying testimony be had and be believed?"
“It can in America today at $50 a day, and Government pro-
tection. But we'll wait and see.”
Jean appeared in Washington a month later and to her aston-
ishment as well as curiosity she was in the prisoner's seat, accused
of something that looked like treason. She talked very frankly.


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
265
Yes, she had “Communist” books in her library: how could she
teach the facts about Communism if she did not read such books?
And how could she teach social science today without touching
upon Communism? Yes, she deeply sympathized with the objects
of Communism. No, she was not a member of the Communist
Party. Yes, she had met Americans who were members of the
Communist Party. No, she had not been under direction of Com-
munists either in this country or any other country.
Of the discussion in her class, she thought it was proper to put
before students the conclusions which any honest person made
from the facts which he had gathered. Certainly, if in the future
she discovered other facts that proved or disproved what she had
said, she would say so. She certainly did believe that certain
Americans had been guilty of violence; as a Negro, (and when she
said that there was a stir in the court)-she had seen dishonesty,
cruelty and betrayal, as well as violence and murder.
The charge that Jean was herself a Communist was delayed be.
cause none of the paid informers which the prosecution had at
their disposal had ever seen or heard of her in the centers of the
Communist Party of America. At the last moment, after all the
accusations were in and Jean herself had testified, there was hurried
into the witness stand, a well-dressed and intelligent white man.
He calmly deposed that he was an undercover agent of the federal
government; that he had been stationed in Paris to cover the Peace
Congress of 1949. He had met Miss Du Bignon; in fact they had
lunched together several times, alone and with well-known foreign
communists. She had attended secret meetings at which he had
been present and that without doubt “she was a party member and
a spy and agent for the Soviet Union.”
Jean sat stunned and incredulous. This plain lie surely could
not stand up in court! She looked appealingly at her lawyers. They
looked away. The examination continued.
"Is this person in the courtroom?"
"I am told she is.”
"Could you identify her?”.
He thought he could. He arose and looked at the table where
Jean and her lawyers sat. Directly beside Jean sat the young brown
lawyer who was Judge Mansart's assistant. Now in fact, this paid
stool-pigeon, secured at the last moment, had never before seen


266
WORLDS OF COLOR
Miss Du Bignon, but knew of course that she was colored. When
she had been pointed out to him sitting at the lawyer's table, he
naturally assumed that the colored girl was the accused and not
the apparently white girl by her side.
“There she is,” he said confidently, pointing at the girl. The
prosecuting attorney leaped to his feet but Mansart was ahead of
him.
“Will you touch her on the shoulder?"
The witness complied and Mansart said:
“Your Honor, we rest our case, and ask dismissal.”
The Judge with a look of disgust assented and Jean Du Bignon
was free.
Outside the court, there were certain men who talked together.
On the whole, they concluded that this woman was not a Commu-
nist conspirator. At the same time, the very frankness of her beliefs
and her outspokenness were a source of danger. And, too, on the
other hand, she might be a Communist spy unusually intelligent
and resourceful.
It seemed, therefore, on the whole, to be wisest to drop the case
and then over a space of time, a year, perhaps ten years, to keep
her under careful surveillance; to see that she did not get work or
leave the country; to read her mail; to watch her contacts. This
would be the best way of finding out the truth about her.
Jean was delighted and her attorney greatly elated. The At-
lanta lawyer said that this was a complete vindication for her, but
he warned that hereafter she had better not touch upon the subject
of Communism, and see that no further accusations could be
brought against her. She looked at him in astonishment.
“Do you mean that in an institution called a university, the
subject which is the greatest matter upon which mankind today is
thinking must be slurred over and omitted? Are you advising me
not to study Communism any further?"
He was uncomfortable and did not think that Miss Du Bignon's
statements showed a sensible attitude. He simply added, “I am tell-
ing you that today it is not wise even to study Communism!”
Revels Mansart said little. He received her thanks gravely and
refused compensation. He only remarked cryptically, “This, my
dear friend, is only the beginning, not the end.”
Jean returned to Macon with her sense of triumph dampened


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
267
by these words. Her apprehension was confirmed by a communica-
tion from the Board of Trustees which was already on her desk.
Due to the fact that she had been even suspected of treason, the
Board thought that her usefulness at the State College was at an
end and she was summarily dismissed. There was no mention of a
pension after her thirty years of service.
This was the first time that Manuel Mansart lost a cause before
his Board of Trustees. He saw from the very opening of the meet-
ing that he had no chance. The Board evidently had already been
in consultation, and both the colored and white members had
made up their minds. They listened to him respectfully, even
when his plea found him so filled with emotion that he could not
speak with ordinary calmness and incisiveness. When he was
through they attempted no rebuttal. They simply passed the edict
of dismissal.
The thing that hurt Jean most was that her plan of a continu-
ous sociological study of the American Negro was thus stopped.
The colleges which had united in this project for various reasons
found it expedient to withdraw. Most of them, after all, had no clear
conception of what this study might have meant to the American
Negro and to the science of sociology.
After the Board meeting, Mansart called Jean to his office and
said, “Jean, I need not tell you how grave an injustice I know you
have suffered. But there is one thing that I hope you will let me
say. From the first time you came into this office until now,
through all these thirty long years of struggle, you have been in
the center of my life and work.
“If I had been a younger man and if there had not been between
us this startling contrast in the color of our skins, I should have
long ago asked you to marry me after my wife died. But I felt
first that to mention any such thing would be a sort of betrayal
of my position as employer and spiritual father, and that you
would have a right to resent it. Any resentment or recoil on your
part would have seemed to me like death.
“But now the situation has altered. In the midst of your fine
career you suddenly are placed where you cannot earn a living.
And I wonder if under these circumstances you would not let me
at least have the name of being your husband, so that I could con-
tinue to have the benefit of your counsel and be able to protect
you."


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
269
groes. The answer lay in the length of time white labor could
afford to pay for the cost of color prejudice.
President Manuel Mansart on his part turned to the task of con-
ciliating and rebuilding his Board, which seemed quite possible
but which proved in the end to be a fruitless endeavor. He had
talks with various members of his Board. He realized very soon
that it was not so much a desire to get rid of him personally that
was moving them as that they had in mind a man who could better
carry out the kind of work which they wanted done at the State
College. He was the young president of the Land-Grant college
for Negroes in Northern Louisiana. It had been subsisting on
small appropriations from the state and from the federal govern.
ment.
President Limes had not offended the authorities by continual
importunity and by protesting what was given him. On the con.
trary, with what he was granted, he had expressed thanks and gone
to work to do what he could. And what he could do was to ap-
pease the local community, to furnish them with house servants and
with a number of helpers in agriculture paid by the United States
government; he had given himself the job of inducing the colored
people to stay on the farms, to work for the wages given, and to im-
prove the quality of farming in various well-recognized ways.
Now, this was the kind of man John Baldwin and the white
members of the Board were very much pleased with. With larger
funds and greater power this man could be an influence among
the Negroes. He could restrain feelings of discontent. He could
stop organized agitation. He could be armed with concessions to
the Negroes for the right to vote. They could even, in some in-
stances, be allowed to enter the "white primary,” and so long as
they voted for the dominant Democratic Party, this would
strengthen conservatism and reaction there. Thus, the new Negro
vote, gradually integrated, could be a distinct advantage to the
employers and to big business in general.
There would be more funds for Negro education and it might
even happen that separation by race in schools might eventually
be given up. That would save money, gain votes for industry
and clip the claws of the white unions. All this was not voiced
loudly; but it was a matter of secret and earnest consultation.
Thus Mr. Limes, suave and pleasant, influential among colored


270
WORLDS OF COLOR
people, knowing how to woo them and persuade them, and being
young and energetic, could do a much better job than could be ex-
pected of Mansart. Mansart was getting old and used to having
his way; he was undoubtedly listening to, if not entertaining, new
and dangerous ideas.
The method, then, decided on for getting rid of Mansart was
not to level false charges or have a row, or arbitrarily force him
out. It was the perfectly logical decision that in the colleges of the
South, particularly those helped by Federal funds, there should be
a recognized age limit for the Presidency. Mansart would be
seventy-five soon. It could therefore be decided that at 75, all
presidents of Land-grant colleges should retire. This would get
rid of Manuel Mansart, and there could even be appropriate recog-
nition made of his work, and a pension suitable for a colored man
given him. The transition would be made without difficulty and
without criticism.
Jean, despite her brave words, walked out into the world with a
shiver. She had a strange distaste after the long years again to en-
ter the white world as one belonging to it. She had lived too long
with her own black folk. She felt completely bone of their bone
and flesh of their flesh. She did not wish to leave them for a mo-
ment. Even the contemplation of it was revolting to her. Not
that they were always lovable, always right in decision and broad
in outlook. Oh, no. They were often narrow, selfish, wrong-
headed human beings. But they were hers. She belonged to them
and they to her. It was hard to leave them even for a short time.
She went to Atlanta, found a room in the factory district and
reported for work at the labor office. Then, having an afternoon
to herself, she took a walk. She walked out to Peachtree, as almost
everyone does. It was changed, but always interesting. About four
in the afternoon she found herself at the fork in the road fronting
the Episcopal cathedral. People were gathering, and she paused
at the crossing. An elderly lady paused beside her and said,
“Could I take your arm? I'm attending the funeral, too, and my
sight is none too good.”
"But of course,” said Jean.
"He was a great loss,” continued her companion, "but perhaps
he had outlived his usefulness."
Jean hesitated and then glanced at the black-broidered program


The Dismissal of Jean Du Bignon
271
slipped into her hand. John Baldwin was dead at 73, and this was
his funeral. She said nothing but went into the church, and they
sat together. The old lady commented in whispers now and then:
“His wife is still beautiful, but so cold, always so unfeeling. I'm
glad Betty Lou went on before. Oh, there is the boy; Lee will
never amount to much. Perhaps his marriage may help, but I
doubt it. Who is she? Oh, some Russian princess, so they say.
There seems to be such an astonishing number of Eastern European
nobility now. They say she was flirting outrageously for a time
with John the father. His wife apparently never noticed. Now
the engagement with the son seems almost announced. There she
is! Just a shade too spectacular for my taste!”
She sank to her knees as the organ pealed. Jean sat through
the services and helped her friend down the steps.
“Thank you so much. My car will pick me up at the corner.
Pardon me, somehow your face seems familiar."
“I'm a Du Bignon, of New Orleans.”
“Yes, of course. Why once I met old Mére Du Bignon. What
a great lady she was! Won't you come home with me to tea?"
"I'm so sorry,” said Jean as she left, “I fear I haven't time!"


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
273
He could do nothing; he could not even protest. He was a soldier
and must obey.
Then suddenly all changed. There came a pulse of weird si-
lence, but not for long. Seemingly without forewarning, the troops
wheeled in their tracks and came smashing, dashing back, driv-
ing the panicky soldiers aside to the gutters. The whole army
was turning. The war had stopped, the fighting ended, the retreat
begun. Yellow China was pouring into brown Korea.
The commanding officer, General Walker, roared by swaying in
his jeep. Suddenly the jeep reeled, rose and overturned. The army
leader lay crushed and dead. Who did it, how did it happen,
why? There was no time to ask. Adelbert's own jeep stalled in
a ditch. The men jumped out and floundered through the mud
and snow, yelling and cursing. The wind shrieked and the dying
shrieked back. Adelbert stumbled, he staggered on and fell. Some-
one stepped on his head and thrust it far down into the slush.
He tried to turn and rise when a great iron wheel rolled over his
right arm. He heard the bones crack. Exquisite needles of pain
rose and gripped him and he knew nothing more for endless time.
When he awoke he was aboard ship and screaming-why, he did
not know. A blurred figure jabbed narcotic into his arm to stop
him. This happened several times. At last he lay silent and
through a small porthole watched the curling sea. An officer bent
over him. He tried to salute but he had no right arm. He rose
in terror. He had no arm! Again a scream struggled in his throat
and again he fell into a stupor of sleep.
Days went by; at last he lay calmly. He was in Japan. He had
lost his lower arm and was going home. His head, too, was not
right. It ached continuously, a low, sullen ache. He was aware
that the nurses thought him crazy, but he was not. He knew that.
But what would he do at “home”? The thought made him sud-
denly laugh aloud. Arrived in Seattle in early May, he was rushed
to a hospital and when he awoke the rest of his right arm was gone.
After many weeks, he became calm and normal. He boarded a
train for Chicago and went straight home. The beautiful, three-
storied mansion sat back from the boulevard, with a wide lawn
in front and at one side. There were chairs and tables and gay
umbrellas. Hundreds of people were milling about-beautiful
women of every color, richly coiffured and gowned; colored men in


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
275
It would seem the United Nations had changed the basis of this
law, or would change it; but then again it hadn't, at least, not yet.
The first step toward effective change would follow the new Atlan-
tic Pact; that is, if it was followed, as it must be, by a Mediterranean
and Pacific Pact.
“In fact, if European dominance or the rule of--" he had
paused there and had not added, “the White Race,” as logically
he would have had he not become conscious of the colored faces
before him. Curious, the thought struck him, how colonials and
Asiatics and Africans were crowding into the universities since
the war. Well, it was a tribute to civilization and to the white
peoples. . . . It was here that Adelbert left. What the professor
had been saying seemed to him pure poppycock. In fact, education
as it was called in the world and as it unfolded itself around him,
was becoming increasingly distasteful.
He was short and slight, with a face of dark chestnut brown and
hair long and curled. His features were straight and sharp and his
eyes black and glowing. He was well but carelessly dressed and
had an air of being used to good living which brought waiters
scurrying as he lounged over to a corner of the café. He had but
one arm.
"What rot!" said a companion who joined him, a young English-
man. “What's the old buffer driving at? The same old slop,
Europe is civilization!”
“Brittania rules the waves,” added Adelbert. "The idea dies
hard.”
"It does; but it dies. It must die willingly or be killed.”
Adelbert looked up lazily. "Haven't we had enough killing?"
“Not of ideas. There a massacre is still due."
“I wonder. Ideas don't need violent killing. All they need is
slow starvation-forgetfulness, oblivion.”
"And how soon this side of never-never-land will that take place,
so long as our schools are dominated by anachronisms like this
fossil?"
“That's what gets me. I'm wondering how much more of what
is called 'education' I need or can use,” said Adelbert. "You see,
my father was hipped on 'higher education.' To avoid argument,
I went to my grandfather's college in Georgia. I did it to escape
a northern college-for reasons you wouldn't understand.”


276
WORLDS OF COLOR
"Perhaps I do,” said the Englishman calmly. Then he paused.
He wanted to hear the story of this somewhat arrogant but reticent
young colored man who seldom spoke of himself. Now, the Eng-
young c was eager to hted a cigarette before going
Adelbert paused, lighted a cigarette, and watched two passing
girls, who glanced responsively his way before going on. Then he
continued.
"Well, yes, of course you know our famous 'color line.' It hit
me pretty hard. As a child, my intriguing father got me placed in
suburban schools with well-to-do whites. They, or most of them,
had little or no background of race discrimination and I had almost
no color consciousness. We played and studied together, visited
each other's homes. We were conscious only of good companion-
ship. Of course, now and then the outer world intruded. Once
we came to blows over a football match with another school when
I was refused entrance to the shower. We practically tore the
plumbing out. There were also one or two girl episodes which
were embarrassing; but in those years I cared nothing for girls.
“Well, I insisted on changing to a high school which despite the
law was confined to Negroes. I liked it that way and determined
that if I must go to college I would go where I would find the com-
plete race segregation of the South. My grandfather was head of
such a college and there I went. I liked the people and the work.
But I came to realize that in my native land I was destined forever
to be a pariah, an outsider, a 'nigger.' I was wild to escape the
Color Line. I did. How? I was drafted in the filthy Korean War.
I lost my arm and my soul. And I saw the world. My God! What
is it? Have you found out?"
The Englishman slowly re-lit his pipe and got it going. “No,
I have not, but I'm groping. Sometimes I think I descry a faint
glimmer in the darkness. The center of the world is undoubtedly
moving East. We must move with it-in thought certainly, if not
body. The trouble is--" He paused.
“The trouble is," added Adelbert, “that the human beast even
in the East is not attractive."
The Englishman shifted uneasily. He said, “Of course in
time-
“And time,” added Adelbert, suddenly feeling the weight of his


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
277
twenty-two years, “is not something we have in unlimited quan.
tities."
"Which reduces itself to the pressing necessity of finding what to
do with what little we have.”
"Or with chucking the job entirely and having another Pernod.”
“No, no, not that,” began the Englishman. But Adelbert had
already risen and beckoned to the waiter. He started off, waving a
careless good-bye.
Crossing the Boul' Mich' he entered the Luxembourg gardens
and sauntered down one of its ornate flower-lined paths. He found
a chair and for a long time stared at the dark gray façade of the
Palace. Its columns held an answer attempted two hundred years
ago-beauty and gracious life built on toil and misery. He saw
a lady emerging between the portals, coiffured and curled, groomed
and painted and dressed with an elegance distilled from the rags
and disease of a thousand beggars, a chain of pearls about her
neck, pearls which were the nodules of syphilis.
So what, he thought. Had we bettered this? Not a whit. We
had moved our poverty and misery out of sight of fastidious eyes
and simply stored it far away in Africa and Asia and the islands
of the sea "where every prospect pleases, and only Man is vile!"
The number of rich and well-to-do living on human misery,
thought Adelbert, is far greater than it was in 1789.
Here now walks a Paris girl of the better class-a hundred Chi-
nese coolies starved to give her stockings. How many Australian
black men sweated to make her skirt? That leather belt around her
slender waist-it must have brought tuberculosis and hunger to how
many shacks among the gauchos of the Argentine? And her scanty,
delicate underwear, wasn't it wrought in the mills of Carolina
by children working through the night? Who put that jewelled
wedding ring on her finger but a million black African families
torn asunder and scattered in thousands of dank, dark mines. What
she will eat at noon, peoples, races and nations plant, tend and
send abroad while their own children starve. This is the French
empire! This is merrie England! This is God's country-America-
land of the free!
He arose angrily from his seat and swung out on the Rue Vaugi-
rard where, pausing for traffic, his eyes caught an old poster: "CON-
GRES MONDIAL DE LA PAIX." He stopped to admire Picasso's dove,


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
279
They remained talking and arguing until sunset, then parted with
promises to meet again soon.
Adelbert had hitherto hesitated about associating himself too
much with the African blacks because he regarded herding simply
on the basis of skin color as silly. He had no “race pride,” only
"human" pride as he expressed it, and indeed it was not quite that
-rather pride of individuality and of interests based on like indi-
vidual tastes and outlook. And yet, in this worldwide movement
there had arisen a new thing-here was a common human cause,
peace. Here were human beings of every variety, united to secure
life when life was threatened by annihilation and the frightful
deformations of war. This common cause made him feel a kin-
ship for such folk greater than any bond he could feel for Negroes
as such. Perhaps in the time of his grandfather, Negroes as slaves
or as new freedmen had some mystic bond of “race” that made them
one. But now? Except for a certain similarity of color, what had
his father in common with a Mississippi field-hand? Barring that
color, his father was a white American making money, buying
votes, using “influence" as other Chicagoans did. Now, in Africa ..."
He suddenly became conscious of the woman. It was, he was
sure, the same Asiatic woman whom he and D'Arboussier had seen
two hours ago. He dimly remembered seeing her as he turned
from the Rue Vaugirard toward his lodging on a narrow street
which led off to the right. She had followed him, or at least seemed
to, until he started to turn. Then, under the street light he met
her face to face and was startled. At first he thought she was the
lady from Viet-Nam pictured in the press as hurling fiery words
at the Peace Congress. Then he saw she was not; but she had the
same doll-like fragility, the same small exquisite feet and hands.
She was younger but not young. Her face was comely, not beauti-
ful, but strong and set and there were deep lines carved upon it.
Coming swiftly around the corner she was upon him before
she could stop. She paused, drew back with an almost snake-like
quiver, stiffened and looked him unblinking in the eye. Although
she was rare in look and race, he thought he knew her kind, and
raised his hat easily. She walked straight toward him and passed
him without a word or gesture, disappearing silently around the
corner. He was puzzled; was it that he did not look rich enough
to be her quarry or had she mistaken him for another? If the


280
WORLDS OF COLOR
latter was the case, he was glad he was not in that other's shoes,
there was something like murder in her face. He forgot her and
climbed wearily up to his room.
Next morning he came to two conclusions, on one of which
he wrote his grandfather:
“Dear Granddad:
“It's no use. I can't stick it. I don't like study; I don't
like universities. I don't like life. I have an experiment in
mind. If it turns out to be feasible I'm off on my own. If it
fails or does not continue to attract me (which is the same
thing), I may come crawling back home. I may not. So long."
President Mansart was worried about Adelbert's letter and im-
mediately sent it on to his son Revels. Judge Revels received it in
the same mail with a communication from Betty Carmichael, in
Springfield. He had not heard from the Carmichaels in some time,
but understood they were getting on quite well. He knew that
young Jackie had graduated from high school and then attended
college at Yale. The Judge's wife somehow had gathered that
Jackie was going to marry a white classmate in Springfield, but
they had no definite word of this. Jack, the father, was now a man
of thirty-four and the Judge was curious to learn how he had
turned out and what he was doing.
Betty came down from Springfield to talk to her relatives.
"We are doing well in everything, I suppose, that really matters,
and yet there are clouds. Jack has his job in the factory and with
the war work, he earns over five thousand a year. However, the fac-
tory is threatening to move south, where it can have cheap land,
unorganized labor, low taxes and even some free capital furnished
by the city and state. This is making the unions anxious but
nothing has happened yet, except what unions in war work must
fear, and that is, peace. My nursing has gone well; I am in a new
research laboratory with interesting work and good pay. We have
a lovely home, a car and a servant.”
Nevertheless, she was worried. Jackie had graduted from Yale
in 1950 with a good record. Since high school he had been engaged
to a pretty white classmate of Irish descent, a Catholic in religion.
There were difficulties at first. But Jackie had many Catholic


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
281
friends and Betty had nursed the girl's mother through a dangerous
illness, and all were at least resigned to this inter-racial marriage.
“While Jackie was in college, I noticed that matters were not
going smoothly between the pair, and before his graduation the
engagement was quietly broken although Jackie insisted that they
still remained good friends. I am not, as you know, wild about
our men marrying white girls, but if the couple are compatible, I
see no reason in mere color of skin for it not to take place.
“But this was broken off without consultation with me. Then
Jackie went west to a technical school for post-graduate work. We
saw nothing of him and he seldom wrote. Jackie's college record,
at least temporarily, secured him exemption from military service.
After graduation he worked in electronics and physics. He was
studying and working hard, summer as well as term time, and was
earning enough to pay his own expenses. He was also interested
in bio-chemistry and nuclear physics.
"I planned several times to go out and see him but he or I
were always too busy. Yesterday, like a bolt from the blue, came
a wire saying that Jackie is married and leaving for work in-of
all places–Mississippi! Moreover, because time presses he wants to
have a wedding reception here in your apartment-next Tuesday.
He says he won't have time to come to Springfield. I don't know
what to make of all this. Is it pique at being jilted by a white girl?
Is his wife white or colored? And who in God's name ever heard
of an educated young Negro settling in Mississippi? I hardly know
what to ask in regard to this self-invited reception.”
The Judge smiled, and lighted another cigar.
“The white South has always argued that equal rights to
Negroes would be the straight road to intermarriage. We protested
but the South was right."
“But,” said Betty, "I always thought that our pride of race, our
memories of the past, would so bind us into a self-respecting group
that cases of intermarriage would be few until the day when nobody
cared.”
“And yet, in the face of this we want to meet-indeed we must
meet and know-our white neighbors. We live beside them if we
can afford to or are not kept away by law or force. We push our
children into schools with white children, and we must if we want
them well educated. Take Jackie. In the rural South, he had


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
283
showing signs of refusing further to follow the rule of reaction-
ary North American investors working in the name of the Church.
Catholic labor in the United States stopped in its tracks the at-
tempt of the Catholic hierarchy of New York to fight union labor
in the cemeteries of Brooklyn. Yes, and one day Catholics will
repudiate Budenz and his kind; they will refuse to let liars teach
morals in a Catholic university."
The bell rang and Jack Carmichael entered. He had just ar-
rived from Springfield. Not yet middle-aged, he was already slightly
grey and solemn in mien. He did not join in the talk but listened
seriously. After dinner they relaxed in the library and waited.
It was nearly nine at night when the bell rang and Mrs. Mansart
opened the apartment door. Jackie and his wife stood there. Jackie,
a big, husky, cream-colored man, vibrant with life and faith, strode
in like a fresh breeze-but one foreshadowing a whirlwind.
“I expect you do not remember me, Sir? I am the grandson
of your mother's youngest sister. You remember how your father
helped my father settle in South Georgia? Oh, hello, Mom. Hello,
Dad!”
Mansart remembered only too well. How vainly his father had
dreamed of Negro farms in the South leading the dark millions
to freedom! And now they were heading by the hundreds of thou-
sands to the greater freedom of Harlem and Chicago's South Side.
Beside Jackie stood a woman nearly as tall as he, well-propor-
tioned, with a brilliant dark brown skin and long black hair. She
was simply but tastefully dressed and one saw at a glance that she
was reserved and intelligent. Her manner and bearing remained
calm even in a situation which could not but be trying to her and
her ease and perfect poise dominated the scene. Betty stared open-
mouthed-it required a desperate effort to find a few words of
greeting. Mrs. Mansart came forward with some conventional
phrases which she knew sounded stilted and empty. The Judge
simply reached out both hands. The bride smiled graciously, then
leaning forward, kissed Betty lightly on the forehead.
"Jackie has talked so much of his mother,” she murmured.
Mrs. Mansart kissed her and Jack took her unconventionally in
his arms. She smiled gratefully at him and then turning slowly
to the Judge began to speak. She spoke a clear musical, distinctly


284
WORLDS OF COLOR
enunciated English, which had a slight accent and yet was in no
way foreign
"You must forgive us, Judge Mansart, for this unwarranted in-
trusion. It was entirely my fault. You see, I am the granddaughter
of Hiram Revels, once Senator from Mississippi, after whom you
are named. From childhood I have been eager to meet you. Nearly
all my family are dead and you seemed more than a relative.
American? Of course I am. I was trained at Alcorn and then at
sixteen went to Denmark, whence I returned only three years ago.
I am thirty-two,” she added. By this time the group had thawed
and soon Jackie was talking.
"Ann," he explained, “Mother is still bursting with that broken
engagement in Springfield. You see, Mom, Kate was a nice girl.
I think she was the prettiest thing I ever saw on that commencement
night. Of course we ran into all sorts of difficulties, but we were
madly in love. But then, while I was in college I began to think.
Trouble was about what we were going to do when we lived to-
gether. Kate was American-much more American than most
Americans. She had not the slightest interest in Ireland. She
wanted a beautiful home, a big car, servants and good ones, clothes
in plenty and a good time. She had a heavenly love of pleasure;
her laugh was divine. All this I liked. I think too I could have
earned enough money to carry it out. But after that, WHAT?
“This matter of inter-racial marriage bothers me. We may look
at it as a way of settling the race problem by letting the Negro
race gradually be absorbed into the white and thus disappear in
America. I think Mom sees it this way. That means that all which
the Negro as such had to contribute to this country would be lost.
I don't believe in race pride, as we call it, but our contribution rests
on our experience and memories, our suffering, our music and
laughter. This is impotrant. It is a massive bundle of human his-
tory from which the world can learn and be guided. Then too
this disappearance by absorption would mean the death of Negro
women; the Negro men for the most part would marry whites; the
Negro women would languish as spinsters and lonesome, bitter out-
siders. This would be a terrible loss. No people can lose their
womanhood and survive.
“Then, too, contrary to the current American philosophy, mar-


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
285
riage is not mainly and cannot be entirely sex. Marriage is friend-
ship and cooperation in work. This nation is striving madly to
make sex appear as the only real life and the result is divorce,
broken homes, deserted children and nasty orgies with alcoholic
and drug stimulants. I know this because I've watched and thought
of women now for ten years. I saw college life continually ruined
by absorption in sex. I saw human intercourse diverted into sex.
And in contradiction, children, instead of becoming cherished and
planned for, became more and more neglected, mis educated or
lost in abortion. So I gave up the idea of Kate. We loved each
other but it was an attraction of sex, not of ideal and work. It
was the lure of the unusual. More and more Kate craved ex-
citement. She loved gambling-you should have seen her at a horse
race—and could she drink whiskey! When I met Ann, there was
something different. I was drawn to her not because she was
brown-although that made it easier-but because we wanted
the same things, remembered the same things, and were trained to
do the same work, and that work we thought of supreme im-
portance.
“Then comes the thought of the Indians—the forgotten,
disinherited, murdered, and debauched American Indians. You
see Ann is part Indian. Her father married into that Indian
tribe that still lives out on Long Island. I knew nothing of Indians
until Ann taught me. Here in the United States, slowly, inevit-
ably the Indians are disappearing into mere Americans, without
enriching America or saving their own souls and culture, which
deserve saving. But Indians survive. In Central and South
America are a hundred million or more people who are pre-
dominantly of ancient Indian blood. That blood and culture
has swallowed Spaniard and Portuguese, Italian and Jew, and
with Negro blood it will give South America a new civilization
which the world will hail. The United States, helped by white
Europe, now. dominates and exploits these millions and keeps
them in slavery with the connivance of Indian traitors, rich and
ambitious. But change is coming, precipitate and complete
change. Ann and I await that change with enthusiasm. We
seek other Negroes to work and wait beside us. I suppose all
this is a sort of egocentric, spiritual nationalism which the world
today fears. Yet, for us it is self defense, a determination that


288
WORLDS OF COLOR
The Judge read:
“Dear Mr. President:
“There has come into my hands-and I have just read-
the Report of the Women's International Commission for the
Investigation of Atrocities Committed by U.S.A. and Syng-
man Rhee troops in Korea.
"Mr. President, I have never, in my forty years of life,
been so shocked and horrified as I was today upon reading
this documentary Report of the utter depravity of the sex-
crazed troops under our command in Korea
“... 26 hospital patients burned to death from incen-
diary bomb fires . . . 30 mothers and children killed ...
systematic machine-gunning of civilians trying to extinguish
fires ... children machine-gunned from low-flying planes
while running from burning homes . . . hospitals, tram-
cars, bridges, water systems blown up ... women and girls
“caught" on the streets and taken to army brothels ... a
native beaten by the Americans because he hid his wife
from them ... the Americans led her naked through the
streets . . . North Korean prisoners of war put into a field,
petrol poured on them, set afire and burned alive ... moun-
tain forests destroyed by American incendiary bombs...
imprisoned women beaten by Americans, 20 raped ... vic-
tims killed by American cartridges exploded in their mouths
... in King Won alone 2,903 women raped by American and
Rhee troops ... chased into rice field, violated, shot... :
“How long, how long, Oh mighty President, must this
bleeding, killing, murdering, torturing, destroying, maiming,
this infanticide, homicide, genocide—this travesty on justice
-continue?
“America's 'leaders'-by their own definition in World
War II-are making themselves war criminals, perpetrators
of dastardly crimes against humanity for which they may
yet be made to pay with their lives by an enraged world
opinion.
"At the head of that parade of the despised clique of
fanatical 'anti-Communists' and would-be atomic annihilators
of life on earth and destroyers of the civilization which took
millions of man-years to create, will march-in chains, per-
haps—the ONE man who could have stopped it all but
didn't-Harry S Truman, unless . . . unless you do some-


Adelbert Mansart and Jackie Carmichael
289
thing tangible and effective immediately before it is too
late.
“If that day comes, Mr. President, you can contemplate
in retrospect a certain longish 8-page letter dated Wednesday,
September 19th, 1951, in which the 'Terrible End' was
‘prophesied' by a little-known, now-dead-and-gone-and-forgot-
ten, little nobody who signed herself,
"Pleadingly yours,
Vena.”


292
WORLDS OF COLOR
at first tempted him not to speak. But they both turned at the same
time. She showed no trace of coquetry as she said,
“The other night I mistook you for another. You are very like
in build, and he used to live near."
He smiled. “I am glad I wasn't he,” he said.
“So am I,” she answered coldly, with no trace of a smile. She
did not enlarge further and as they sat down she returned to her
thesis. She was sure that the Western laborer had sold his political
power for comfort and mechanical luxury, then had turned soldier
to conquer and enslave the colored masses for more power. Adel-
bert insisted that the colored folk, too, would under similar circum-
stances yield to the same temptation.
She was silent and her slender arms, tensed under her mental
earnestness, fell to her lap, the wide sleeves falling back. Then,
for the first time, he noticed. He had heard of it, had even seen
the scars on coarse, hairy arms. But here, on a wrist that might
have belonged to a child, were the tatooed numbers of the concen-
tration camp-71,942. He stared down and then took her hand
gently in his. The beginnings of tears started in his eyes-he felt
so utterly anguished that he had no words. She let his hand lay on
hers for a space, then said:
“You see, I was educated in France. When the war came, of
course, I helped the partisans and was-betrayed. They took me
to Germany."
He wanted to know everything, to ask about all that happened
to her but could not; nor did she offer to tell. She arose at last
and looked into his eyes with something nearer to a smile than he
had ever seen.
“Goodbye,” she said with a certain finality. “Trust the people!"
And she was gone. He suddenly realized that he did not even know
her name.
Adelbert never forgot the ordeal of decision he experienced in
the next week. His grandfather had written pleadingly: "Don't
be crazy. Please come home!" He would have every chance-his
father had money-more perhaps that Adelbert thought. He had
influence. “Don't be a fool!” There was more in the letter; but to
Adelbert all was too clear-nobody in America wanted or needed
him.
The handful of leading Negroes were getting rich-the


Back to Africa
293
mass of poor Negroes were getting poorer. All that the leaders
aspired to was to be like white Americans-wealthy, loud, swagger-
ing. Yes, he could be one of them. But then what? He did not
have to swagger and boast-he was perfectly sure of himself and of
his worth. He was not concerned about what other Americans or
other Negroes thought. But he did want something worthwhile,
something meaningful to do-some vast chance on which to risk a
life. He began to feel he had found it. Of course, he was not
sure-could anybody be sure of anything in this damned world? But
why not take a chance? Throw all to the winds and try Africa?
He leaped up and grabbing his suitcases, began to pack. He
had just piled his fresh clothes on the sofa and was kneeling over
his largest valise when the door opened softly and quickly closed.
He turned-the Viet-Namese woman stood there. Her robe was
torn, a bloody knife was in her hand and her face was pale as death.
She stared at him. “You!" she gasped, and staggered a moment.
He started toward her but she stiffened and touched her lips with a
finger. He heard a commotion in the hall. There was a peremp-
tory knock on the door. Without a word he turned and, pushing
her on the sofa, threw a pile of clothes over her; she was so fragile
that the addition scarcely showed. He quickly turned the blood-
smeared doormat and said gruffly: “Entrez!” busying himself with
the bags and scarcely looking up.
"Monsieur,” said the polite Paris gendarme, “I believe a woman
just entered your room.”
Adebert turned casually and the police officer noted his fine
linen shirt and tailored trousers.
“Sir,” he said as he brushed off his hands and lighted a cigarette,
"a lady left at six this morning. She has neither returned nor
been replaced. I was expecting that damned concierge to help
with these bags, and thought it was he when you knocked. Did
you happen to see him?"
"I did not, Sir. But pardon me, a dangerous murderess has
escaped and is in this house. Would you permit me, Sir, to look
through your apartment?”
"With pleasure, Sir, only don't disturb my things. I've been
up half the night arranging them.”
The policemen searched the bedroom, the little bathroom, the
oaken armoire; he looked under the bed and behind doors. Puzzled,
he profusely begged pardon and hastened away, bowing politely as
he hacked out of the door.


294
WORLDS OF COLOR
The bundle of clothes did not move, did not even tremble.
When Adelbert lifted them the woman, stained with blood, lay
still as death. He was seized with panic. Quickly filling the bath
with warm water, he lifted the little body, stripped off the torn
clothes and lowered her into the water, rubbing her body gently
and massaging her temples, cheeks and neck. She lay like a golden
idol, infinitely beautiful, of perfect form. He was sure she was
dead and for a moment was horrified at the predicament he would
be in. Then he thought he detected a faint pulse beat. He opened
a bottle of cognac and poured a few drops between her lips. She
stirred slightly as he lifted her in his arms and placed her on his
bed, covering her warmly and stroking her forehead and temples
with gentle hands. Then he poured a few more drops of liquor
into her mouth until at long last she was sleeping gently, her heart
beating regularly.
He turned to gather up and destroy her clothes. Suddenly, as
he gazed down on the torn and blood-smeared garment, the full
horror of the situation dawned on him. Neither squeamish nor
given to nerves, Adelbert was no stranger to death and murder.
Death-if sudden and violent-was news even in Chicago; in Korea,
it seemed to him, he had seen nothing but death. War was mur-
der and murder was war. It made the world dirty. And here it
had touched with tainted hand this lovely wisp of a woman who
had affected him somehow as no woman ever had before. She was
beautiful, yes, but not innocent-she had deliberately transgressed
the commandment: “Thou shalt not kill."
He stood up slowly. He made a bundle, as small as possible,
of all the blood-stained things. Carefully he climbed the attic
stairs-paused and looked around. There was a policeman on the
roof. He returned, left the bundle hidden among his packed
clothes, then sat down to think. He must see D'Arboussier. He
started for the door and paused. He tiptoed to the bed. It was
after midnight. She was still asleep, breathing regularly but faintly.
He started to make himself a bed on the floor. Then alarm seized
him again. Suppose she should die in the night? He partially
undressed, lay down beside her on the bed and enfolded her gently
in his arms. Thus they slept.
He awoke with a tremor. He felt her slight body nestled against
him. But though her eyes were closed, he knew she was no longer
essed, lay dopose she showbed on the thing regu


Back to Africa
297
yet to accept the slaughter of masses of people. It is perhaps the
greatest anomaly of the twentieth century-an infinite contradic-
tion. It is more than wrong. Masses of men are never guilty. The
victims of Hiroshima were not guilty of wrong. Those who dropped
that bomb were murderers. We build monuments and cast medals
for men who kill indiscriminately in wars we call ‘glorious, yet
condemn to shame the man who strangles his daughter's seducer.
"We, in Viet-Nam, arose and took back the country which for-
eigners had stolen. France fought by murder, torture and starva-
tion, helped by England and America. We fought on.
"While studying in Paris in 1938, before the war, I met our
great leader, Ho Minh. I acted as his secretary while he was ne-
gotiating with the government for our freedom. It was then we
met Eboué, just summoned home from his governorship of Guade-
loupe. We knew what he had done for the workers, their homes
and wages. We sought his help and sympathy. He promised aid.
He believed in France, but France did not believe in him. He re-
fused to be a tool of Mandel and as punishment was sent to Africa.
But he was glad. He had already served there five years. He as-
sured us of his help and of the good faith of France. He knows
better now.
"During the war, I tried to help that part of France which re-
sisted Germany, and could surely sympathize with Viet-Nam. I was
right. But the crime and criminal appeared in our ranks. Spies
and traitors appeared to sell us to our murderers and traducers.
Was there the slightest doubt of their guilt? Were they not worthy
to die? Must they not be killed if Viet-Nam was ever to live?
"One there was-I knew him well; tall for our land, handsome,
educated, gifted. We were in school together in my land and met
again studying in Paris. We were in love and planned to marry.
But he went with Pétain, I with the Resistance. For a time, Phan
Hu pretended he was still on our side, but spying on Vichy. In
this way, he betrayed me to the Nazis."
Adelbert tried to take her tattooed hand in his, but she with-
drew it gently. "No," she said. “I did not kill him for that. I
would not murder just for myself. But when I learned that he was
planning to restore control of France over my country by means of
a degenerate puppet prince who was gambling at Monte Carlo; and
that his were the brains engineering this plot, I knew Phan Hu


298
WORLDS OF COLOR
must die; not because personally I hated and despised him but
because he was leading the traitors of my land.
“I gave up my education. I gave up my state scholarship. 1
gave up my profession of medicine. I became the hand of God and
of my country to remove a man worse than a murderer. I stalked
him a year; that is how I first met you, mistaking you for him.
Last night I found him. I killed him. My work is finished. What
happens to me now is of no account. Least of all, my friend, would
I have you stain your hands with a crime in which you had no will.
ing or conscious share. I want to go now and surrender to the
French police. I would have done so last night but it might have
involved you."
She started to rise when there came a knock at the door. They
paused and stared at each other. Then quickly, before he could
prevent it, she opened the door. D'Arboussier stood there. They
were silent.
“May I enter?” he asked, smiling. They came to life and
grasped his hands. He bowed, kissed the hands of the lady and
murmured, "God bless you, Dao Thu; you have served well!"
He listened to what had happened, then said, “Now for your
escape!”
She shook her head in despair but before she could say a word,
again came a knock at the door. Adelbert almost lifted her bodily
and carried her into the bedroom. D'Arboussier calmly opened the
door. A telegraph boy stood there with a blue message for Adel-
bert. D'Arboussier paid for it, then burst into laughter.
“Boy,” he said, "where'd you buy that uniform?”
The boy, somewhat taken aback, answered suspiciously. But
D'Arboussier continued smoothly.
"We want to play a joke on a friend-send him a telegram
by the hand of his own sweetheart disguised as a messenger. How
about lending us your suit for an hour. It's worth-oh, what's the
difference-here's a thousand francs.”
The boy hesitated. Another thousand franc note appeared and
the boy quickly shed his suit. In a minute or so Dao Thu, dressed
as a telegraph boy, was accompanying D'Arboussier to his auto, while
the stripped messenger lounged about in Adelbert's room until
dusk when, wearing an old suit of Adelbert's, he left under the


Back to Africa
299
sharp scrutiny of the concierge—but with three thousand francs in
his pocket.
It was not until he left that Adelbert, whose thoughts were all
of Dao Thu, suddenly remembered the message. It was a cable-
gram from his father, saying “Grandfather very ill. He wants to
see you. Come immediately.” It held a draft for a thousand dol-
lars.
Adelbert liked his grandfather. He had always seemed to him
a nice old man, perhaps a bit too anxious to be accommodating
to the world, shrewd but honest. His father sometimes criticized
him as an Uncle Tom, but he, too, had a good deal of respect
for him. Now when it came to returning to America for the old
man's funeral, Adelbert had not the slightest idea of doing such a
thing. It was useless ancestor worship and he'd have none of it.
Moreover, he felt he had to see Dao Thu again, that until he did
so he would not re-order his life-as he was firmly determined to do.
It was a week before he received a letter from D'Arboussier,
at Marseilles, urgently inviting him to attend a meeting of persons
interested in the future of Africa. Without hesitation, Adelbert
packed his belongings and took the train South. He rode slowly
down the valey of the Rhone. Unable to get near the buffet at
Dijon because of the crowd, he was ravenously hungry by the time
he finally was served a meal in the Wagon-restaurant between
Avignon and Marseilles. Yet, he found it a rewarding journey as
his train pounded past vineyards and ancient churches, leaving in
his mind memories of dissident popes, Roman ruins and Frederick
Barbarossa.
He climbed to a castle of Provence, encircling the knife edge
of a ridge, above the blue and isle-dotted sea. He threaded nar-
row, tortuous streets, clean and filled with workers, children, stray
cats and dogs. He passed along high walls with great square tow-
ers, narrowly slitted, enclosing courts with pleasaunces where a
thousand years ago gay princes and their ladies must have laughed
at the world-where now are these smiles of yesteryear?
The vast castle grounds, once flowered and turfed, were now
covered with dark cypress and lime. The enemy without was no
longer the barbarians from the north, but sullen toilers in fields
of the plain below these walls, peasants full of envy and resent-
ment, frowning today, as their descendants did through the cen-


Back to Africa
301
alongside the seven millions of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan; the
nine millions of the Belgian Congo, speaking the same tongues,
allied to the same Bantu races; British West Africa, the greatest
center of African nationalism, where Nkrumah was building an
independent black nation. Beyond these and in their sphere of
influence lay Ethiopia and Uganda, with native ruling dynasties;
and Kenya, where the white land thieves ruled and where Jomo
Kenyatta was leading revolution. And still beyond, lay the hell
of the Rhodesias and South Africa, with twelve or more millions
who had more to fight for than any other people on earth.
“And you aim to raise Africa against all its mighty oppressors?”
asked Adelbert.
“Not at all,” several replied. “We aim to make Africans sup-
port and work for themselves as the Chinese are beginning to do.
United, conscious and determined to do this, none can make them
do aught else. We want to make the workers of France, and
eventually the workers of the world, realize that here in Africa
-and today-are forged the chains of their continued bondage,
the bondage of poverty, of land theft, of monopoly of raw mate-
rials, of machine regimentation, of chained thought and domi-
nated education, of slave labor cheaper than the cheapest.
"Here it is that the Englishman, determined to regrasp his lost
dominion; France, set to recapture the taste and fashion of the
world; America, determined to outdo the universe in power and
control-right here in Africa-and today-the great exploitation
to restore the pre-war imperialism of the European white world has
begun, and right here and now in its beginnings it must be met
and thwarted-or the Dark Age descends on civilization.”
“We have already begun,” added D'Arboussier, “and we want
your help. Dao, the most gifted organizer in the world today
must go to Africa to get home if she ever reaches home or," he
paused significantly, “or ever wishes to. For her to enter French
colonial Africa, she must marry a colonial official. And you,
Adelbert Mansart, have been commissioned as a French colonial
civil servant, provided you accept and surrender your American
citizenship."
Adelbert did not need to pause for consideration. With barely
conscious impulse he arose and crossed over to Dao's side. “We
accept,” he said for both.


302
WORLDS OF COLOR
Why should he hesitate? What was there to hesitate about?
He knew from his own experience, from everything he had been
reading for years, from what Americans had bluntly said in his
hearing. . To a large part of white America the colored world
was dirt-useful, but not human.
To most Americans a free and equal China was simply in-
conceivable. The Chinese were and always had been good,
humble workers who could be kicked and cuffed and who would
never be anything else. If, therefore, there had come a revolu-
tionary change in their government it must be the result of some
kind of conspiracy or accident, of betrayal by Americans of
American business, or perhaps of a political blunder which would
soon be remedied. They therefore awaited-with impatience but
with certainty-for the collapse of Chinese Communism just as
they had waited for years for the collapse of Soviet Communism.
The longer this collapse was deferred, the more angry they were
at the traitors in America who had cut them off from so rich a
source of profit. ,
Toward Africa their attitude was even clearer. There was
not the slightest chance in the world that Africans would ever
really govern themselves or work for their own benefit. They
were fated to be serfs of white men. The ridiculous pretense of
the black folk of the Gold Coast, Nigeria, the Congo to set up
independent governments, the absurd shadow of revolt smolder-
ing in South Africa, the horrible crimes of resistance of the Mau
Mau in Kenya-all this proved what the future of Africa would
be unless America took firm control.
The dangerous task of escape from France to colonial Africa
confronted Dao and Adelbert. Alone he could go freely, by way
of Algiers or Morocco, to Bamako and Timbuctoo, across the
ancient trails of the vast desert. But Dao? A woman, a confessed
murderer on whose head lay a fortune in reward? Adelbert
raised the question of funds; there seemed no difficulty there.
When he offered his thousand dollars, Dao looked at him strangely
then laid on the table a fortune in jewels and gold and silver
ornaments.
"These are yours,” she said to D'Arboussier. "If I go to Africa,
it will be in complete poverty. Is it not so with you?" she asked,
turning to Adelbert.


The Sanctuary of Marriage
313
And especially the press-the voluble, all-knowing daily papers
said almost nothing about the strike. The nation, the state, even
the main population outside the city got no news of this struggle.
Jean finally staggered aboard a midnight train and rode to De-
troit, simply because that happened to be the train's destination.
It was in a cheap boarding house a week later that, reading
the morning paper, she saw the advertisement. One of the smaller
colleges of the many colleges of Ohio wanted a teacher of the
social sciences for the Summer. She applied. The Dean was
impressed by her graduation from Radcliffe and the doctorate
from Chicago; but uncertain because of her recent work for a
labor union and her former teaching in a college for Negroes.
Correspondence with President Mansart, however, would be sure to
furnish a recommendation. Jean wrote to him and explained.
After the first interview the Dean was still uncertain. "The
woman says she is only 53, but she looks old and frail; her hair
is turning grey; she is feeble, in fact. Yet there is something
about her that intrigues me.”
“She has personality,” her assistant answered. “Could we not
try her for the summer semester? It's so hard to get anyone to
teach the social sciences now, and this woman has had experience,
even if it was in one of those Negro colleges in the South."
"All right," said the Dean. But she still had her doubts.
The work progressed quite well for four of the six weeks. But
the pace was swift and the work grueling. The summer students
were for the most part grim and verging on middle age-there
was none of the resiliency of youth. One day in the classroom
Jean Du Bignon sat facing her class. A little uncertain and with
her mind wandering, she looked at them, and they did not look
at all familiar to her until she saw a brown face at the back of the
class. She did not look at him but she was conscious of him all
the time and being conscious, her words became more connected
and her thoughts clearer.
She said: “You know, we sociologists—and I hope I do not have
to apologize for the name-for a long time were a little ashamed
of our statistical methods, our 'probabilities,' our frank or per-
haps not so frank, acknowledgement of chance when we wanted
certainty-that good old certainty of the 19th century when we


314
WORLDS OF COLOR
knew everything or could know it-given a little more time for
measurement and examination of matters measurable.
"Today this attitude seems changing. We are depending on
statistics and probabilities not only for the deeds of human be-
ings, but also for the physical world—the world of atoms, the world
of biology and of psychology. We have come down from our
high horse of measured certainty to the business of collecting
with infinite pain the facts, and coming to possibilities and proba-
bilities as to the real conclusions of science. In fact,” said Jean
almost laughing, "we have opened the doors to our old friends,
Chance and Free Will.”
A voice came out of the back of the room. “And God?”
"Well, at any rate,” said Jean reflectively, “and gods. There
may be a considerable number of minds contributing to change
the course of history and social development."
"Would you say,” asked someone else, "about ten such gods-
or minds-or ten million?”
"Something in between these extremes, I would say. Not
everyone really makes decisive choices. Such choices are not made
every day. But from adult and disciplined and sane people come
numbers of such important decisions; and in the aggregate they
may constitute an historically decisive social force."
“And,” asked a girl,"would you make the number of sane
people large or moderate?”
Jean's eyes became vague and she almost forgot the class. She
looked first through the window and then seemingly through the
walls and out over the earth. “Sanity,” she said, “after all, is a
comparative thing. What I am about to say may seem a little
insane to you, but what insanity is to a few or to a time or to a
place may in the larger world be the reality of a greater sanity."
And then, losing sense of time and place, she began to talk
rapidly.
“There is not only the energy within the atom; there is not
only the vast mystery of the cosmic rays from the outer world.
This world must reach into a world beyond-with its flames and
leaders. I seem to see a white flame lighting up the North, with
Hitler and Bismarck, Wagner and Freud, a flame that blazes furi-
ously then droops and dies; behind comes the flaming tri-color of


The Sanctuary of Marriage
315
the boastful West, with Napoleon and Mussolini in front and
Washington and Churchill in the rear.
“And then, rising in the East to light up the sky, the red flame
of Lenin and Pushkin, Buddha and Sun Yat-sen, and the dazzling
Black Flame of the South-the Black Flame of Tarharqua and
Askia, Toussaint and Lobengula. That flame of the North, with
its thin paleness, will fail; and Spengler has told us how the flame
of the West is declining. But that of the East, as we can see,
is growing, growing. Oh, few of you know as I know what the
Black Flame of the South will bring.
"Away down there in the Antarctic, at the end of the world,
we have been building an ice palace. Nothing the world has seen
is of such size. The inches of the pyramids have been yards
in this massive and gigantic building; the Empire State Building
is a mere pilaster. The building already looms so that at the
end of the globe the earth soon will lurch, and swinging outward
into the barriers of the stars lay open a universe with no assump-
tions of Space nor hypotheses of Time.
“And then between the pillars of the universe, looming from
highest Heaven to lowest Hell, will appear again the Black
Flame.”
Her head sank upon the desk and the students stared, and
then moved uneasily.
"I think the old girl has gone crazy," said one.
“Either that or she has seen a vision,” said aonther. “Do you
think we ought to let the Dean know?"
“My god, is she dead?” cried the brown boy, leaping up.
Jean opened her eyes slowly. She somehow felt more rested
than she had for a long time past, longer than she could remem-
ber. She looked out on a green and lovely yard, the window
framing hollyhocks and sunflowers, roses and geraniums; vines
climbed over an old stone wall and trees here and there rustled
in the gentle breeze. A startling thought flitted through Jean's
mind-she might be dead and forever at rest. Then quickly she
drew her dreams back and looked about the room: white and blue,
with only a few pieces of furniture. One picture hung on the wall-
what was it? She half rose and a nurse appeared.
"I think you will enjoy a bit of lunch," she said as she set
down the tray. Jean's questions elicited the information that she


The Sanctuary of Marriage
317
It was a good world and they loved it, and especially they loved
each other with deep and abiding affection.
They came to a valley among mighty mountains. It was a
glorious morning. The sky was glass-the wind a whisper. Like
solemn sentinels on either side stood enormous trees, brown as
dried blood and tall as heaven-trees that were living when Christ
was born. Beyond and above them loomed a domed mass of piled
granite, already old when Homer sang-even perhaps when the
morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted for joy.
And far below and between, surged and sinuously swayed the
silver, swinging mist of living waters, plunging, singing, roaring,
curling in the golden sunshine.
Later, they lingered in San Francisco, dwelling high in the
Hopkins Hotel, whence they could scan the Golden Gate.
Together they re-lived the past and dwelt fondly on each inci-
dent, each triumph and failure. They found new persons in each
other, new thoughts and novel desires. California was beautiful
-they talked of spending the rest of their lives here in this para-
dise, yet knew even as they talked that life was stirring too
strongly within them and that work called too loudly for them
to contemplate complete rest-even though Mansart was 78 and
Jean 54.
It was the decision of the Supreme Court on race segregation
in public schools that aroused them. Mansart gave voice to their
ideas.
“So, the Supreme Court has spoken and with one voice. They
are wise. They know that if, for another century, we Negroes
taught our children-in our own 'bettering schools, with our own
trained teachers-we would never be Americans but another na-
tion with a new culture. But if beginning now, gradually, all
American children, black and white, European, Slavic and Asiatic
are increasingly taught as one-in one tradition and one ideal-
there will emerge one race, one nation, one world. It must have
been a hard choice to make-they had to surrender 'superiority'
and accept eventual miscegenation. Social equality would dis-
place the divine right of white folk. Otherwise, there loomed a
world so split with hatred that it spelled suicide.
“Am I glad? I should be, but I am not. I dreamed too long
of a great American Negro race. Now I can only see a great
are wise. Thren-in our own beric Americans but anotne,
u


318
WORLDS OF COLOR
Human race. It may be best. I should indeed rejoice--"
From then on began a restless probing and inquiry. What
could they do in this crisis? They both had so much experience;
they both were still strong.
Jean said, “Once I conceived a great measurement. I arranged
to count the deeds of a segregated group in ten states or more;
year in and year out for decades; to centralize the classifying and
interpreting of these facts in one place, under the direction of ex-
perts whom the best judgment of nation and world could furnish
and which therefore must include our own dark scholars. This
plan failed. Today white men, without benefit of the judgment
and experience of blacks, are telling the world what black folk
think and are. I wish-I still wish-_-"
Mansart looked up from his newspaper and scowled.
"Jean, dear,” he said, “what's wrong with the world? What's
happening to America? I never dreamed we could act this way.
Spies, stool-pigeons, professional liars hired by government; theft,
waste, gambling, crime. I cannot understand. I'm all at sea!"
They decided it would be best, for a few months at least, to
rent a cottage near the ocean, and just rest and plan. They
were not surprised to run into the usual difficulty colored folk en-
counter in securing even temporary shelter in a good community.
At last, they obtained a short lease on a cottage in the San Mateo
area; it belonged to a retired professor who was glad to get the
extra income to cover the cost of repairs. He himself arranged
board and lodging with a neighboring merchant not far away.
It proved a pleasant arrangement; the professor became a regular
caller, and several neighbors accepted the newcomers when they
learned they were persons of culture and would not stay long
enough to depress real estate values.
They continued their intensive reading and talking. The
neighbors became interested in this dark man and his pale wife.
Most of them said little, but they listened all the more. Mansart,
at rest and relaxed, found himself talking more and more freely
than had been his usual habit.
He said one day: "I've been thinking seriously. I'm puzzled-
and terribly troubled. I have lived long. I've circled the world.
Yet, when I look on this my native land, I am forced to ask:
what have we to fear more than ourselves. We seem as men


320
WORLDS OF COLOR
or four of these exquisite studies appeared and then Jessie Fauset
stopped writing at the height of her literary possibilities.
"It was a shame, a deep loss. I saw her once only in passing
-a small, rather plump girl, beautiful and comely, a brilliant
brown, and sparkling of eye and soul. How an eighteenth cen-
tury Britain would have lionized her or a France of Baudelaire's
day! But an America of the raging twenties did not even read
her few delicate poems. So, my dear, this day we'll read out
of this author's There Is Confusion!”
As time passed, on pleasant afternoons neighbors frequently
dropped in at the Mansarts' at tea time to sit and chat on the
wide porch overlooking the sea. They had, in fact, instituted
afternoon tea as a regular custom.
One day, a neighbor, the retired professor, was there, and Jean
was pouring tea when a middle-aged woman who taught in one
of the city high schools came by to borrow books on Negro his-
tory-a subject in which the public libraries were weak. The
neighborhood grocer, who had brought her there in his station
wagon along with the week's groceries, also dropped in, and a
stranger, who said he was a landscape painter and who had
stopped to admire the roses, then at their top brilliance, was also
invited in. Another neighbor, a writer, whom they knew slightly,
stopped in at about the same time to borrow a match for his
browning Meerschaum.
The talk, at first desultory and casual, soon became animated.
The old professor launched into his favorite theme.
“We Americans are stupid and afraid. We're scared stiff, and
why?"
The teacher broke in with what seemed to her the most logical
answer: “Bad schools and growing worse; poor teachers and too
few of any kind."
“I never heard of so much lying and stealing as goes on today,
or so much suspicion of each other," interpolated the grocer.
“Don't know what to believe, if anything--
The professor continued. “Does anyone really believe that
Communism is an international conspiracy and that Russia is
planning to destroy us?"
Mansart mused. “I am more and more convinced that Ameri-
cans are being forced to think and act against their own real be-


The Sanctuary of Marriage
321
liefs by a small group of powerful men who control most of our
wealth and media of communications."
“Now we're getting somewhere," said the old professor.
"Listen, there are 127 men who hold 289 directorships in 66
billion-dollar corporations which control 75 per cent of all cor-
porate assets in the United States. These men are not elected
to office and power by any democratic process. They are se-
lected by interested parties or select themselves by their individual
initiative. This oligarchy is becoming smaller in number and more
powerful in its grip on industry in America and in the world.
The small business man is disappearing and the artisan is pricing
himself out of the market. What to do? Suppose now that the
wealth and legal control of industry was by law taken from this
127 and given to the state. Suppose intelligent democracy con-
trolled the state and that high ideals for the good of all people
activated the voters and that the men they elected to control of
the state were honest and self-sacrificing-how's that for Socialism
without revolution?".
A chorus of voices rushed to challenge this thesis, question pil-
ing upon question.
"Would the 127 assent to being stripped of power and without
desperate fighting?"
"How would the 127 be recompensed for this theft of their
* property?”
"Where is this 'intelligent democracy'?”.
“How can we get 'honest civil servants of high ideals'?"
The old professor did not answer-he smiled and slipped
away.
The writer sneered: “We don't even dare discuss the situation
for fear of being bludgeoned with poverty if not with prison.”
"Only real democracy can cure this,” said the teacher. "but
democracy is what we haven't got-and we're losing even what
we had."
Jean said, “We're bribing the Negroes with civil rights and
hushing union labor with high wages in return for war and vot-
ing rights."
The painter picked a rose as he left. “The only answer is
revolution!” was his parting remark.
"No," said the teacher. “The answer is lawyers. We are


322
WORLDS OF COLOR
ruled by lawyers; lawyers make our laws, apply the laws. They
nominate lawyers for judges; judges interpret the laws which the
lawyers have made. We are a world of lawyers, run by lawyers,
for lawyers. Which explains why we are so lawless-with injustice
the rule rather than the exception. Small wonder revolution
always aims at the courts, the judges and the lawyers.”
Laughing, they bid each other and their hosts good night and
slowly departed.
Next day they were astounded to learn that the old professor
had been arrested, though the charge against him was not clear.
A few days later a quiet and well-dressed stranger called at the
cottage and showed his badge. He was an agent of the FBI.
"I was wondering,” he asked Mansart politely, “if you would
be willing to cooperate with the Government?"
"Why certainly,” answered Mansart, “in what way?"
The agent brought out a memorandum book and took a seat.
"You had a meeting here lately?”
“A meeting? No, there's been no meeting--"
Jean interrupted. “He probably means the friends who come
to tea.”
“Very well. Will you give me their names and--"
Mansart arose angrily. "I certainly will not!"
"Then you refuse to cooperate?"
"I refuse to be a stool pigeon! Good day!”
As Jean feared, it was not long before Manuel Mansart was
subpoenaed to testify before a Congressional committee which
began sitting in the Pacific area. Mansart was surprised but not
averse to going. He could not imagine any information he had
which would be of interest to these men. And he never dreamed,
as Jean surmised, that he would be accused of subversion and that
the committee wanted confession and information. Jean spoke
over the long-distance phone to Douglass' son-in-law, Dr. Stein-
way, in Los Angeles. She also wired to Revels, in New York.
The appearance before the Committee was brief and unbe-
lievably vicious. Mansart was from his very entrance treated as
a convicted criminal.
"Were you ever in Russia?”
“Who paid your way?".
"Were you ever in China?"


324
WORLDS OF COLOR
“Now, I want you and Jean to come back with me to New
York. It is not as beautiful there as here, but it is safer. Come
and live with me and my wife. We need company. We'll talk,
listen, drink and eat. We'll have a few friends in now and then.
We'll go to the theater and movies and drive in the suburbs.”
“In other words,” said Jean, "we'll be clams."
“Precisely! And believe me, it's clams or death here today!
And I prefer to live!”
Both Mansart and Jean said, "I wish we were as sure as you
are!"


Death
333
I felt I could send it off. It has now been refused by five pub-
lishers and for curiously similar reasons. As far as I can see now,
there is nothing further to do.
"Soon after we came to New York, I had a personal talk with
this last publisher. It was, he said, a good novel, just as all the
other publishers had assured me-only the climax. Whom would
my white-black girl marry and live with happily the rest of her
life? She must not marry a white man—that would condone 'mis-
cegenation.' She could not marry a colored man, for she was too
white. Yet, she must marry or where is the purpose of the novel?
It was all too silly and the matter was clinched when I said, 'But
I have married a Negro and we're very happy.' The editor gave me
a look of disgust and did not even shake hands when I left. So
that is that, and here is the script.
“There was one incident that I developed in the story that none
of the publishers liked but which I hate to give up. Do you re-
member the oil marriage that was making the headlines just be-
fore we left the West Coast?"
"Oh yes, the millionairesss of seventy who married the widowed
millionaire and threw a fabulous party?"
"Yes. Well, I put it in my script; now, that party was fabu-
lous but it was also uniquely American. Listen, this is almost
word for word as it appeared in the press:
Champagne will gush like the oil that's paying for it tonight
at Hollywood's biggest blowout of the year, the $30,000 Mo-
cambo party being tossed by newlyweds. The bridegroom is
a widower and has grown children. He has oil interests in the
San Joaquin Valley and Texas. The bride is 74 and the
daughter of an oil king who at his death left her over
$17,000,000. The couple have taken over the entire nightclub
for the evening, with 300 guests, including film stars and
politicians, invited to the glittering white-tie affair.
As a starter, there will be 80 pounds of caviar, costing
$2,200. The club will be decorated with about $6,000 worth
of gardenias, which will garland even the cages of the Mocam-
bo's famed parakeets. A horshoe of blooms will form an arbor
over the entrance to the cocktail lounge. Available to guests
will be 20 brands of Scotch whiskey and 25 types of Bourbon.
But champagne will be the featured beverage. It will spout
from a fountain decorated with a wedding bell and doves
of ice.


Death
335
at midnight September twenty, 1954, in the Rainbow Room
of the Rockefeller Center, to hear a rescript on the future of
Africa and the Black Race. There will be in attendance
African rulers, West Indian officials and leaders of the Negroes
of the United States.
Our Steward at the Waldorf-Astoria will await his ac-
ceptance.'
"This,” said Manuel, “sounds like cheap propaganda in the
guise of melodrama. I hate to waste my time."
"Wait,” said the Judge. “This is propaganda and it is certainly
theatrical. But it has power behind it. It means something. It
has impressed thoughtful Jews. You cannot remain ignorant of its
efforts. My advice is to attend. To my mind, this is the idea of
white American business aimed to dazzle Africans; and their ideas
have been dramatized by what czarist Russian exiles still regard
as the airs of High Society. I doubt if it impresses Africans as
much as it will influence American Negroes-who are ready to
jump wherever white society beckons. How far will that influence
sift down to the fifteen million of the black rank and file? But you
must attend-you most certainly must attend."
On the appointed night, the automobile with the old rabbi
called promptly. The rabbi said as they rode along:
“I was most eager to have you attend this meeting to which you
have been invited by this so-called princess. It was originally
planned to bring to New York the leaders of the African peoples to
indoctrinate them against subversive movements and extend Amer-
ican influence among them. My son told me of the plan and I
asked if you were to be invited. He said no, and intimated that
you had gone radical. Against his own judgment and on my insis-
tence, he secured an invitation.
“Lately, the nature of the meeting has been changed to make
it more social than political. And this society woman who has been
an underground political figure and has recently married some
Southern millionaire–Baldwin, I believe is the name-has been
put in charge.”
“Will many Africans be present?"
“Not as many as they hoped, but a few. West Africa will be
represented by Asikiwe, of Nigeria.”


Death
337
From her long, slender neck and low cleft bosom to her bare
arms her flesh was flawless marble. To her long, crimson-pointed
hands, she was braceleted and ringed with a fortune in precious
metal and blazing gems. Her bosom, with the contrivance of wire
and elastic, was built out almost too full for her long, lithe limbs
which undulated beneath billowing fabric whose embroidery must
have kept a hundred skilled costumers working a hundred days
until now their delicate folds concealed and at the same time
revealed the perfection of her form. Her feet were shod in slippers
of beaten gold and writhing silver.
There was a studied harmony and simplicity in all her magnif-
icence, and the total impression, when with a studied languor
she extended her bejeweled hand to the guests, was beauty and
opulence.
As she entered, there was a murmur of subdued applause.
Some of the Africans raised their hands and bowed low; the West
Indians bowed slightly and many of the women curtsied. The for-
eigners exchanged remarks in low tones. A group of the American
Negroes talked in almost audible whispers from the sides of their
months.
"Listen, who's back of this baby?”
"Search me-may be a phoney!"
“Phoneys don't hire these diggings or put on all this side.”
“They might-with the right sugar daddy.”
“Take it from me-there's money back of this gal and you
can't lose playing along. I think I know the folks in Washington
and New York behind all this-here she comes-boy, she sure
sends me!"
Behind the princess, as she glided easily to her throne, she drew
a train of billowing velvet which with one sinuous motion she
draped about her, as half bowing in gracious condescension, she
subsided into her gilded armchair. She spoke slowly and distinctly
in a deep and lovely contralto voice, waving the fiery tip of an
ivory cigarette holder. She welcomed by name and station the royal
and chief African delegates as they gravely responded. The rest she
addressed in general words; then, pointing to the great mirror
behind her, she said:
"I am not here alone, your highnesses, excellencies, gentlemen
and ladies; nor am I your host. Some of the sixty men who own


338
WORLDS OF COLOR
America and are the real rulers of one world are behind me,
sitting back of this great mirror and seeing you clearly although you
do not see them. They are modest men, in accord with American
tradition among business leaders, but as you and I well know,
they are the ones who act and do. They are the ones who have
invited you here and you have been selected with thought and
calculation."
The old Rabbi leaned toward Mansart and whispered:
“If you think the battle for socialism is won in East Europe you
reckon without your hostess. The landlords of Poland and the
shoddy aristocracy of Hungary and the Balkans, buttressed by
religious reaction and American investment, will fight many years
to regain dominion over their millions of serfs.”
The Princess, with a perceptible change in attitude and tone
and a silght tensing of her voice, continued crisply. "You will do
well to heed my words. A world crisis is upon us and it is high
time that those whom you represent and others not here, under-
stand perfectly what those who are and intend ever to be masters of
the world, have ordained. You see, gentlemen, that I mince no words
and conceal nothing.
“For five hundred years the British, French and German em-
pires, and lately the United States, have ruled Europe, Asia, Africa,
the Seas and all America. That rule has been temporarily disturbed
in some areas. It will be restored and perpetuated-of that there
is no shadow of doubt in our minds and none really in yours.
We are masters, because masters we were born and masters we will
remain by the will of almighty God!”
She was now sitting straight and arrogant,the embodiment of
wealth and power. “You may have been swayed by current world
gossip that American business is led by fools and criminals. Very
good. Let us hasten to admit that the rulers of the greatest indus-
trial realm the world ever saw or is likely to see, are human. If
you were to look behind this mirror," she continued cynically,
"you might find perhaps several sorts of men-gamblers who have
taken chances and won; freebooters who, laws unto themselves,
have robbed some people but used their loot for the good of all
men; heirs who inherited fortunes for which they did not need
to work, born as they were to the purple; merchants who, trading
honestly or dishonestly, piled up untold riches; artisans and en-


Death
339
gineers who used rare skills to amass and pyramid wealth. All
these men are owners of wealth and power-whether they are dream-
ers for the future or indulgent in drink and women, liberal or re-
actionary; men who read and think or men who do not whether
they are good or bad.
“The point I bring you is this-they are the powerful of the
earth. They rule. What I want you to do in the time that you are
with us is to think of your own future under them. Will you join
with the white European race to help crush and beat back the
crazy Chinese and Russian Communists, help bring that world
back to its normal procedures; or will you join this rebellion against
established authority-this revolt against civilzation?"
She paused and looked about. There was a dead silence.
Azikiwe raised his outstretched arms in African courtesy, but was
silent. The Kabaka, in his red fez and ceremonial gown, said in
impeccable Oxford English:
“We have heard, Highness, and we will consider your words.”
Bustamente of Jamaica growled inarticulately but said nothing.
Then an American Negro, a business man evidently chosen for
the task, stepped forward and began to speak. “Your Highness, we
want to thank you for this advice. I know the power of the white
race and what it has done to help my people. I assure you that
we Negroes are loyal Americans. We hate communism and despise
Communists. We ask of the white world only such recognition
as we deserve and treatment as equals only for such of us as are
equal. We want the right to vote and hold office when we qualify.
We believe in property and private profit. We want the right to
work and save and we do not believe in labor trying to compel
capital to pay wages it cannot afford. We want the right to spend
our wealth without discrimination, to live where we can afford
and to secure public accomodations when we can pay the price.
We will always be glad to defend the nation which made us citizens
and which is gradually—"
He suddenly paused and looked around-there was vague, elusive
unease in the air. It was not a noise or an interruption, but was it
neither applause nor approval. It was something that denoted that
subtle disagreement, which Negroes know so well how to suggest.
It was then that Manuel Mansart spoke-without premeditation,


340
WORLDS OF COLOR
without design. The other speaker did not protest-he merely
stopped speaking and stepped back.
Manuel said, “Madame, permit me. For many years I hesitated,
uncertain as to just what my part in this world was to be, what it
should be. But now I know. Now-rather suddenly-I know. We
human beings are not all equal-but none are born rulers or pre-
destined slaves. Up from the masses of all kinds of men can and
will rise the gifted and the good. And no man-no men-no force-
can stop this rise. The uplift of mankind is limited neither by
color, race nor descent. We do not rise by stepping on each other
but with each other, helping each other, and in time the over-
whelming mass of men will achieve understanding and wealth
enough for all their needs, all their yearnings, for every wish,
every desire. Mankind, all of mankind will be strong and healthy,
free of the corrupting power of greed and envy.
"Every industrial merger you make, every integration of mo-
nopoly power, every new penetration and enlargement of market,
or seizure of new sources of raw materials, is just a step to the
social ownership and conduct of industry by all for all. I therefore
greet that land which first enacted equality of races-Russia. I'll
never fight her. I hate, I detest the pretensions of the white race.
They shall not continue to rule—their end is near, Socialism is
not creeping, it is marching, and in its triumphant march I see
the end of all war.
“We black folk will make a great mistake if we continue to ape
white folk, whose wealth and power is based on taking from workers
most of what the workers earn, and using it to amass untold power
and luxury for parasites who have no right to it. Socialism is the
effort to render the worker owner of what he creates, and it is this
which the Soviet Union, China and the other Communist nations
are trying-despite enormous difficulties and opposition-to accom-
plish. They are educating, healing, strengthening, encouraging
the masses of the people so that this tremendous task may be done
better. If those who deride and hinder and slander this effort can
do better, let them try. Let them not spend their power in war and
preparations for war to overthrow what these striving new nations,
in blood and sweat attempt.
“Today, we Americans, black and white, whether we work by


Death
341
hand or brain, suffer from recurrent unemployment with its toll
of insecurity. We fear sickness and disease, and gamble to escape
it. We fear old age and steal to avert its sufferings. We need rest
and recognition but cannot afford it. Education is so bad and so
costly that many of our children sink to crime. Prices are so high,
most of us cannot live decently-yet are forced to waste the little
we have.
“Black Brothers, let us never sell our high heritage for a mess
of such White Folks' pottagel"
A dead silence had descended as Mansart began to speak. When
he concluded, all eyes turned to the Princess. At first she showed
indifference, patience, then surprise and at last anger as she realized
the tenor of what Mansart was saying-this was not the speech
planned. She glanced about uncertainly until gradually realizing
that Mansart's speech was shattering what had been so carefully
planned-and at such great cost-she stamped her foot and arose
waving her cigarette holder imperiously. But before she could utter
a word, there came a sudden blast of trumpets and the curtains at
the side of the long hall were quickly drawn, disclosing a large
room, gaily decorated with an orchestra and flowers and an enor-
mous table in the center laden sumptuously with foods of all
kinds, temptingly displayed. Tables at the side offered a great
variety of drinks. White-liveried servants stood ready to wait on
the guests and from other rooms beyond appeared fifty or more
white men and women to welcome the dark guests. All were guided
to seats, carefully mixed by race and color, and a lively buzz of
conversation soon ensued.
Hardly anyone noticed, as the curtains to the dining room
opened, that two tall footmen, moving unobtrusively, had quickly
taken Mansart's arms, one on each side and led him away from the
food and guests and music, into the entrance hall. The Jewish
Rabbi quietly followed as an attendant quickly brought their
coats and hats, and an elevator stood ready with open door.
Swiftly they glided down to the main floor thirty-two stories below.
As they crossed the plaza the rabbi said, “Out of five thousand
years of glorious history, the barbarians of Western Europe have
enslaved the world for the past 500 years. But their day of infamy
begins to end in Asia-from Finland to Calcutta-in Africa-from


342
WORLDS OF COLOR
Israel to Good Hope-in America—from Arctic to Antarctic. Men
-all men-reassume the power which is theirs by right and by
might."
The Cadillac was standing ready on Fifth Avenue, but Benjamin,
the son, was not in it. Mansart hailed a cab. The rabbi turned, his
head uncovered and his white hair blowing in the frosty night so
that he loomed ghostly in the glow of the lights. He placed his
hands on Mansart's shoulders and blessed him:
“Yevorechecho Adonoi veyishmerecho;
Yoer Adonoi ponov eilecho vichuneko;
Yiso Adonoi ponov eilecho veyosem lecho sholom.”
Months passed. Manuel Mansart continued in outward health
and seeming enjoyment of the world. He celebrated his 78th birth-
day. But Jean knew that his end was near. The physicians whom
she unobtrusively called in were puzzled.
“I thought it was cancer. But the pain has disappeared and
the other symptoms are not there. I just don't know what it is;
nevertheless, he is not going to live long.”
"We physicians know so little. We are especially ignorant about
old age, because we have no time to study it."
“God! If we just had the hospitals and funds some nations
have"
"But we haven't,” said Manuel, opening his eyes, “and after all
what difference? It is only a matter of a few years, more or less.
Jean and I have had a full life-full and fruitful. I know I am
leaving her and this world soon-and forever. But while we live
we will always have our memories-our memories and dreams.”
Jean looked at him long and intensely, and whispered, “Have
you no hope-I mean-afterward—?"
He smiled gravely and answered, “None.” He continued, “We
continually assume that if a thing seems desirable, it must for that
reason be true. And if a man does not believe that what he would
like to have so is so, then somehow he is held to blame. Most
human beings would like to live again-prolong and either cor-
recting or fulfilling this so imperfect existence. Naturally, some
wouldn't-they are satisfied with one try, and ready to call quits
after that.
“If a man faces the facts and says honestly, 'I don't know, and


Death
343
see absolutely no proof that we will live again'-should such a
soul be derided or accused or read out of the Congregation of the
Righteous-while hypocrites, liars and fools crowd into that com-
fortable refuge?
“Would it not be wiser and better to say, 'I do not know' or
'I do not hope?' No matter what Paul preaches, I know Hope is
not Truth. In any case, I will not lie. If others believe in immor-
tality, I respect their right to that belief. But what I fear and hate
are the fanatics who would send me to hell for not consenting
to lie.” Then he added, "God is no playwright. His lives end dimly,
and without drama; they pile no climax on tragedy nor triumph on
defeat. They end quietly or helplessly—they just end.”
The days passed slowly and pleasantly for Manuel Mansart
despite unpleasant occurrences in the nation and the world. Jean
drove him one morning to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens to
look at the blossoms. She sensed that he was gradually growing
weaker, and that he knew it. As they rode back across the East
River, he sang in low voice, with the silhouette of Manhattan
looming before him:
“Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' for to carry me home-"
When they reached their apartment house he had to be helped
more than usually into the elevator and to their door. Settled
in his armchair, with a blanket across his lap, he whispered to Jean:
“Call all my scattered children from the Seven Seas, every one.
Douglas, my first-born, is in Chicago with his wife; call him and
his daughter and child from California with her husband. Revels
is here but his son Phillip settled in Hawaii with its golden rain.
Be sure to summon him and Marian-Harry Bridges will spare them.
Sojourner and her Bishop will hasten to me gladly from Africa.
I want to see Jackie and Ann again and Marian's brother and
sister with their mother. Then there are two young people in
Atlanta named Baldwin, and young Moore in Arkansas-perhaps
they will come. I still hope Douglass' boy will return from Europe.
I want you to cable him. It will be good to have my brood stand
around me when I die, which I hope will not be long now. And you,
dear faithful Jean, are always with me. I want us to say goodbye
together in this old and evil and incredibly beautiful Earth.”
When word reached them his family started by train and plane,
by cab and car, over road and river and sea to be at the bedside


344
WORLDS OF COLOR
of Manuel Mansart. They gathered, one by one, or in couples,
or in family groups-all a little apprehensive, a little uneasy. After
the first greetings, the older folk talked about family problems,
their children's careers, current developments, the state of business,
the season's weather, styles and clothes. Gradually as the days passed,
all seemed to separate into age groups and one lowering night the
younger members of the family group climbed to the roof and
sat there in the drizzly night, huddled under umbrellas and rain-
coats, staring west across the city to glimpse the dim Palisades on
the New Jersey side of the Hudson. Someone began to speak-it
was too dark at first to discern who it was but the voice spoke
clearly.
“We're here to watch the ending of a life. It was a good life
but it was ineffective. It's up to us to carry it on and make it
work for the future-the future of our colored people here in
America; yes, and the future of mankind, too.
"Our professional men and civil servants, our white collar
workers are paralyzed into silence and inactivity. They practice
their profession, work hard, make good money and keep still.
They buy cars and refrigerators; rent better apartments, often
even buy and build their bank credit is good. But when all is
said and done, what does it all add up to? The most and the best
you can say of the Negro is, 'He's rising from nether to upper
Hell.'"
By now, everyone recognized that it was Phillip's voice speaking.
“We have all been disappointed in various ways and degrees.
Small business, even when carried on by intelligent Negroes with
some capital, is impossible--it is at the mercy of white banks and
chain stores and Big Business. Directly or indirectly, it must live
on exploitation of the poor, with practically no freedom of thought,
or action. Jackie and Ann, down in Mississippi, cannot exist as
small farmers-they are manipulated by the white market, pawns
of petty white politicians, under perpetual threat of the mob.
Even my brother-in-law here, in New York, installed in a Rock-
efeller Center office, prospective vice-president of a huge corpora-
tion, looks forward only to being a cog in the vast wheel of an
international oil trust with no real voice in its aims or operation.”
Ann's rich cultured voice, full of anguish, interrupted.
"Oh, I am ashamed, ashamed of my people. We have lost all


Death
345
clarity of vision, of purpose. We have forgotten our purple history,
of endless resistance to white terror, of suffering which made us
strong, of struggle which made us wise; we despise our own great
and rush pellmell to embrace white America. Why?”
A low bass voice in the rear barely audible took up the strain
from Elijah—“Then did Elijah the Prophet burst forth like a fire;
his words appeared like flaming torches”—but Ann, Alinging off her
head-covering, lifting her face to the rain, continued.
“What is this America to which we all crawl? The East no
longer stands for literature, philanthropy, a heritage of culture.
It is a naked and brazen financial and industrial dictatorship.
Our free West? The old glory of pioneer California has dis-
appeared; Grafters rule labor in the Northwest where Joe Hill
never died, and in the South, bestial backwardness reigns supreme
as it did a century and more ago. Was America born for this-or to
soften, strain out, select, blend the finest of Europe, Asia, and Africa,
even those long buried in poverty and ignorance. Perhaps it will
yet do this. But here and now, the German-Americans no longer
even remember their rich heritage. The Scandinavians forget their
folklore. So many Italians have lost sight of the glory that was
Rome and remember only what the slums of Naples and the degra-
dation of Sicily taught. Why, the boast of our tallest Jewish states-
man is that at thirty-five he had successfully gambled in stocks,
with stacked cards-for the right to wield as his own a million dollars
of property he never earned.
“The Irish, forgetting the Gaelic revival, Fianna Fail, and the
Irish theater, are still running from one of the loveliest spots
of earth. What have we Negroes and the Indians to compare even
with this? The Indians are spiritually dead in this nation, but
with neither literature nor history. The Negroes are seemingly
mesmerized. Where is the outburst of literature which we began a
generation ago-the poetry and music, the dance and drama? In
the last decade we have not produced a poem or a novel, a history
or play of stature-nothing but gamblers, prizefighters and jazz.”
“But Ann, you are being unjust. Will publishers publish or
critics review, or booksellers handle anything but Negro's lauding
of white philanthropy? Can Sterling Brown or Rayford Logan get
a book in print even if it is a classic?".
“Right-and why? Because Negroes themselves do not buy