I began to learn to read Spanish. I struggled with bookkeeping. I tookone of the old pistols from my father's desk and fired away in theafternoon at a target Maximiliano had put up in the corral. But most ofthe time I was depressed and unhappy and bored. One day, when there wasno one in the house but me, I put the pistol to my head and held itthere, loaded, a long time, and wondered if I would be any happier if Iwere to pull the trigger. But then, I began to think, if I do, I mightmiss something. I haven't been to the ranch yet, nor to the top of thevolcano, nor to the bullfights in Mexico, nor graduated from highschool, nor got married. So I put the pistol down and went back to mybookkeeping.
We reached New York on an autumn day as beautiful and bright as if allstorms had forever passed. We docked at noon. As soon as the gangplankwas down, the passengers departed in high dudgeon, giving the Captainand all the officials of the line a large and fluent piece of theirmind.
High Noon Nora Roberts Epub Collectionl
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Another car that excited the colored world was that of Jules Bledsoe,who originated "Old Man River" in Show Boat. One day he appeared inthe streets of Harlem with an expensive, high-powered motor, driven by awhite chauffeur in livery. Mr. Bledsoe, who is dark, explained to thedelight of Harlem that he had a white-uniformed chauffeur so that thepublic could tell which was the chauffeur and which the owner of thecar.
Harlem likes spectacles of one kind or another--but then so does all theworld. On Sunday afternoons in the spring when the lodges have theirturnouts, it is good to stand on the curb and hear the bands play andsee the women pass in their white regalia with swinging purple capes,preceded by the brothers in uniform, with long swords at their sides andfeathered helmets, or else in high hats, spats, and cutaway coats. OnceI saw such a lodge parade with an all-string band leading theprocession, violins and mandolins and banjos and guitars playing in thestreet. It was thrilling and the music was grand.
As his popularity in Harlem grew, Dr. Becton started a magazine. It wasnot a bad magazine, and it paid higher rates for material than any Negromagazine in America, because most of them pay nothing. It paid Nationor New Republic rates. He bought an article of mine and one or twopoems. One day he sent the editor of the magazine to ask me if I wouldaccept a post on his staff in a literary capacity. He requested that Icome to talk to him about it. And that is how I happened to see hishouse.
Most of the professors on the faculty were elderly, kind, religious oldgentlemen, graduates of Princeton in the '80's. Some of them, likeProfessor Labaree, Professor Wright, and Dean Johnson, were excellentteachers, but others were merely mediocre. And between faculty andstudents there were practically no social or comradely relations of anykind. From chapel in the morning until classes were over in theafternoon, we saw our teachers only in the classrooms. After that untilthe next morning they disappeared into their houses bordering thecampus, leaving the main yard and the dormitories entirely to thestudents--which gave student life a certain freedom not enjoyed by mostNegro colleges. Indeed, dormitory life was entirelystudent-controlled--and sometimes highly hilarious.
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