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Johnson: I want to give you
the privilege of four things from which to select the situation you
feel like talking against. (1) One of them is some of the things
in the development of women’s clubs in America. No one has written
their story yet. How they came into being and then how you became
crystallized in these organizations and became head of these clubs and
their leader, and established the Council of Women.
(2) To see were you conscious of any of the educational principals current
about the time of the development of Bethune-Cookman.
(3) Your association with Lucy Laney and also with Booker T. Washington.
(4) Some of the New Deal personal stuff. Of course I know how
Roosevelt turned with great feeling of ease and how you knew him well
enough to shake your finger in his face and give him some friendly advice;
and about your acquaintance with Mrs. James Roosevelt, and your contact
with Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt. Your associations with that group
has certain ramifications.
(5) A picture of Mr. Bethune.
Bethune: I think the educational situation of Florida
and possibly of the lower East coast is very vague. I went there
because I was looking for a hard place to work.
Johnson: How did you know Florida was hard?
Bethune: I knew of Florida….was building …down there and
Negroes were flocking there and I went by to see what was being done.
Johnson: Did you know anyone there?
Bethune: No, when I went to Florida first….my first married
year was in Savannah, Georgia. That was when I was quiet from
active work. That year I took off.
My boy was born that year and I was engaged in civic things, church
clubs, community work with women and children. On Robert’s Street
where I lived I had a group working with and for them, and while I was
there my friend Irene Smallwood, who later became Mrs. J.W.E. Bowen,
was with me when I taught at Lucy Laney’s school.
While visiting me in Savannah, a man named Reverend James C. U_gims(?)
came to Savannah to visit Irene Smallwood. I met him—he was the
pastor of the Presbyterian church in Palatka, Florida.
I told him of going into a new district and how I wanted to build an
institution of my own and wanted to go into some congested district
where little was being done for my people and he suggested that I start
a parochial school in connection with his church.
I got to Palatka and started out this community school and worked in
the jails two and three times a week, and our to the sawmills there
and in general among the young people in clubs there, and built up there
a very interesting setting. I stayed there for five years.
Then I made up my mind to go down on the East coast and study the situation
there and see what was being done—and found very little being done in
that section. The new minister, Reverend S.P. Pratt, who told
me he thought I would be interested to see what was happening in that
section.
I had no money I was doing a little insurance work in connection
with my other work—I sold insurance for the Afro-American and saved
up a little money and went to the coast to study what was being done
there.
As I studied the situation I saw the importance of someone going down
there doing something—So I selected Daytona Beach, a town where very
conservative people lived and where James N. Gamble (Of the Proctor
& Gamble Company of Cincinnati); Thomas White, (of the White Sewing
Machine Company of Cleveland); and other fine people. A fine club
of white women in that section formed a philanthropic group of…Palmetto
Club..through whom I thought approaches could be made. The colored
people had little to offer. A splendid man of the Baptist church,
Rev. A.L. James; another fine man of the little Methodist Episcopal
church…had conferences with these people and a little woman named Mrs.
Warn, had some daughters who felt the importance of some one doing something
in that section and gave their cooperation with my idea of starting
a school. I made up my mind that I would do it and started out.
I used the money I had earned with the Afro-American to make
this exploration down the coast, and when I got to Daytona I had only
one dollar and a half left in cash.
I got a little rented house…I couldn’t pay the rent. The house
belonged to a Negro man named John Williams, he rented the house to
me for eleven dollars a month. I told him I had no money—but he
said he would trust me.
I had no furniture. I begged dry goods boxes and made benches
and stools; begged a basin and other things I needed and in 1904 five
little girls here started school.
(Do you remember the names of those first five girls and where
are they now?)
Before starting school I had three significant dreams—you see I still
believe in dreams.
The first was: I was standing on the bank of the St. John River and
had to cross that river but seemingly there was no way for me to get
over. And as I stood pondering that stream, and that I must go
over, I looked back of me and there was a great army of young people,
all coming towards me.
And then someone came up to me and said, “You are planning to cross
this river, but before you cross it you must take this book,” and handed
me a book, “and register the names of all those young people that you
see there in the distance.”
I was ill and when I had that dream and a friend came in to see me
and I told him about the dream he said to me, “I’ll be the Joseph and
interpreter of your dream. That means that you are to build a
great work for young people and that many years will be spared you yet
to lead them on.”
My second dream was: I was again on the bank of the St. John River
and was making another attempt to cross that river and my mother and
father were both alive then and the president of dear old Scotia, Dr.
Satterfield, who was president during my stay there.
They locked arms with me, Dr. Satterfield on one side and my mother
and father on the other. They started out with me, wading out
into the deep currents.
My mother and father held on and went as far as they could go and mother
turned and said to me—“My child, we have brought you as far as we can
go, but now we must leave you and you must make it for yourself.”
Dr. Satterfield still plodded on and as the water came up and
up, he stopped and said, “Mary, I have brought you to the distance,
I can go now—now you will have to make the balance of the way yourself.”
I wondered what it meant. Just seemed to me they meant—my mother
and by father—that they had prepared me for a life of service; they
gave all they could give in my education and training, and then they
left me to dear old Scotia to carry me to heights they could not reach;
and then dear old Scotia carried me and gave what she could give and
sent me out into the world now to carry on.
My third dream: I thought I was standing on the banks of the Halifax
River (all of the ???waters), praying for help and for the way to build
my school.
I thought as I looked up that I saw a man galloping down the street
on a beautiful horse. He was dressed in a uniform suit, and when
he got near me he jumped off his horse and approached me and said, “What
are you sitting here for?”
I said to him, “I am just trying to see my way clear to build my school.”
He said, “I am Booker T. Washington,” and he placed his hand back in
his hip pocket and pulled out a parcel in a seemingly soiled handkerchief
that had evidently been used for mopping off the perspiration –and out
of this handkerchief he gave me a large diamond and said,
“Here, take this and build your school.” And again he remounted
his horse and galloped away.
That was my first contact with Booker T. Washington. But oh,
I had been a worshipper at his shrine when I read of what he was doing
in the building of Tuskegee. I felt that this diamond represented
confidence, will power, stick-to-it-iveness, work suffering, friends,
doubt, wisdom, common sense,--everything necessary for the building
of a beautiful BETHUNE-COOKMAN.
I had such an interesting demonstration of faith in my life, work.
When I first started I did not have dishes. A friend was kind
enough to me to lend me dishes. It was in October when she loaned
them to me.
About Christmas time, one Saturday I was cleaning my little girls and
my little baby boy who was then about five years old, getting ready
for our Christmas. This woman had taken private work at Ormand
and said I might use her dishes. This day she came in and said,
“Mrs. Bethune, I am awfully sorry, but my husband is going to have dinner
for the Masons and must have the dishes.”
…….And my little boy said, “Mother, what will we do?” Just at
that time there was a knock at the door.
I said, “Wait a minute, Mrs. Jamison, you were kind enough to let us
have them this long.”
When I got to the door, a man was standing there with a note in his
hand and a basket. He handed me the note and said that Mrs. Thompson
has asked me to bring them to you. He lifted it to the inside,
and believe me or not, friends, but when I took the paper off, there
was a basket chuch(sic) full of dishes and I opened the note from my
dear friend Mrs………..
“My son, ‘Burt’ has given me a new set of dishes for Christmas
and I thought I would send these over to you and your little school.
I looked up into the face of my Father and I realized that even before
we call, sometimes he answers.
One Saturday I did not have food. I went to one of the
stores and asked the Negro man there if he would let us have groceries
for my children for the week.
He said, “Why Mrs. Bethune, I would like to, but I am not able.”
But when I got back to the little house four men were seated on the
porch. They were men who had been attending my night school, coming
in to be taught how to read and write. (You see I was doing adult
education way back there)
One of them said, “Mrs. Bethune, you have been so kind. We got
paid today and we brought you some money.”
Each owed me two dollars—so I had eight dollars and how I thanked God
and sent hastily to the store and paid the cash to the man who could
not afford to advance me food for my little children, the food necessary
for them.
One day we needed food—that morning in our little assembly as
I prayed and asked God to supply us. He knew what we needed, and
you know, before we got through singing our last hymn, a man drove up
in his wagon with a load of vegetables and potatoes and food stuff that
a friend had sent over.
And one of the little girls said, “Mrs. Bethune prayed for food and
here is a man with a wagon full.” That faith has sustained us.
We needed a roof on the house. It was leaking. We did not
have any money to buy a roof, and I felt that it had to be fixed.
I had sent out letters of appeal and no returns had come and
finally one morning I said to my helpers, “Build scaffolding around
the house. We have enough lumber for scaffolding.”
The men said—“Where are the materials?”
I said, “Build the scaffolds and get ready,” and friends, will
you believe me, when the mail come in the late afternoon, just about
the time the scaffold was finished—I was sitting on the ground directing
the men on the scaffolding and opened the mail bag right where I was
sitting and will you believe me—I opened the letter from a darling friend
who had sent me one thousand dollars to be used as I needed it.
And I called my men then from the scaffold and we bowed in prayer there
together, thanking God for the supply. I could not help but remember
the story of the building of the alter—how Abraham was commanded to
build the alter and give an offering and when he looked around for a
ram it was there. That is the kind of faith that has built Bethune-Cookman.
When I was sent to Lucy Laney, I was just out of school.
It was a pleasure to have the opportunity to teach with a woman like
Lucy Laney. Haines Institute was the creation of her own soul
and mind. She started in the basement of her church years ago
for her people. She had Mamie McCrory (?) Jackson, Irene
Smallwood (Bowen). I found them working with her. All were
a great inspiration to me. How Mrs. Jackson stood side-by-side
with Lucy Laney, gave twenty-five years of her life helping build Haines
Institute—and Irene Smallwood who gave years and years. I was
so happy for the chance to blend my life with the lives of those women—Lucy
Laney with her spirit of service, quick steps, determination, will,
alert mind, again demonstrated to me that it could be done. I
studied her, watched her every move and gave myself full to the cause
she represented. They knew no hour when service was needed.
Around Haines Institute there was the very thickly settled community—settled
with colored people. On Sunday afternoons the streets were crowded
with children, and having had such a fine opportunity for training at
the Moody Institute, I felt that here was a chance to help children,
and asked permission of Lucy Laney to start a mission Sunday School—she
granted it.
I took the girls of the science class and my own class and went out
and combed the alleys and streets and brought in hundreds of children
until we had a Sunday School of almost a thousand young people and people
in the community came in. Among whom was Judson Lyons and others.
This mission school lasted for years, and became one of the great assets
of Haines Institute, Lucy Laney, the great inspirer, the great
educator, the great leader among our group, fired me with greater ambition
for service.
I remained with her for one year, after which I went to Sumter, North
Carolina to work in another mission svhool(sic) there where I met my
friend Estelle Roberts, now Estelle Harrison, and we together had our
experience in helping develop the work of the Kindle Institute, headed
by Rev. C.J. Watkins, another field for real service, never tiring…I
gave my best. Meeting friends and working up interest—working
with people in jails, with the under privileged, building Sunday Schools,
with people in the community, young people’s meetings, in the choir
of our church.
Here I met a young man, Albertus Bethune.
He had a beautiful tenor voice. He was interested in the activities
of the church, and a student at Avery Institute, Charleston, South Carolina.
He lacked one year of completing his work there. He had to withdraw
in order for his brother Jesse to enter school.
Bethune and I met, became well acquainted and loved. The following
year we were quickly married. This married life was not intended
to impede things I had in mind to do. He found business employment
in Savannah, Georgia, where we moved and lived simply and quietly and
remained there for sixteen months.
Then my only boy, Albertus, Junior was born. The birth of my
boy had no tendency whatever to dim my ardor and determination for my
dream work, the building of an institution.
Mr. Bethune was not interested in educational work, but put no
barriers in my way to carry on my work. It was mine to struggle
on alone. He died in the early years of my beginning, without
realizing the possibilities of my ambitions.
(Something personal about Mr. Bethune? His background, etc.)
I met him after he was grown. He was reared in South Carolina
and educated there. He was a very fine young man, with fine parentage
and family—average in educational background and interested in business.
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