B.J. Dickson

When Sidney Wyeth's work among the domestics was an assured success, he decided to rent desk space in the large office building referred to, get a typewriter, do a little circularizing, and concentrate his efforts upon securing agents elsewhere, for the purpose of distributing his work.

Accordingly, one Sunday morning, after being told that the custodian of the building could be found in his office on the fourth floor, he betook himself thither.

But let us pause for a moment, and retrace a long span of years, that we may interest ourselves in the history of this same structure. For it has a fascinating tale to tell.

Before freedom came to the black people of the south, pious worship had begun. Despite the fact that it was an offense to teach Negroes during that dark period, or in any way to be responsible for allowing them to teach themselves, many, nevertheless, did learn to read; and perhaps because the slave-owners were inclined to be God-fearing people, they did not, in a general sense, openly object when they found many of their slaves worshipping. So it happened that, since men were in the majority of those who learned to read, the first channel to which they diverted this knowledge was preaching. And since, as above mentioned, they were not always forbidden, worshipping the Christ among Negroes had been practiced long before freedom came. Therefore, after freedom, preaching became the leading profession among the men.

The reader is perhaps well acquainted with the pious emotion of the Negro; our story will not dwell at length upon this; but the fact that, to become a preacher as a professional pursuit, was the easiest and most popular vocation; and from the fact, further, that Negroes had become emotionally inclined from fear in one sense and another, so that it is inherent, preaching and building churches swept that part of the country like wildfire.

Of the different sects, the Baptist seemed to require the least training in order to afford the most emotion. All that was required, in a measure, to become a Baptist preacher, was to be a good "feeler" and the practiced ability to make others feel.

History proves that people of all races (when still not far removed from savagery) are inclined toward display. This is an inherent nature of Negroes. Indeed, Negroes of today, in many instances those who have graduated from the best colleges, seem yet largely endowed with this trait, as this story will show later.

So, shortly after preaching and shouting became the custom, another feature entered which permitted these people more "feeling," and this was lodges, secret societies and social fraternities. These, like everything else—omitting possibly the extreme "feeling" exercised during religious worship—was patterned after white custom; but, insofar as the Negro is concerned, a great deal more stress and effort and feeling was put into the things mentioned. In a sense, they were the Negroes all.

Naturally, these many lodges, etc., must have some object. And that object for years, was irrevocably, to care for the sick and bury the dead.

Our story will be concerned with the United Order of the AAASSSSBBBBGG, which, for the purpose of this story, will answer as well as the real name, and will be much easier to refer to.

The AAASSSSBBBBGG, is one of the oldest lodges in Dixie, having been in operation among the black people for generations. And its great object was, until a few years ago, to "ce'h fo' the sick 'n' bu'y the dead."

In the course of events, there had been elected to a very conspicuous position in this same lodge, a man with a square jaw. He was of medium height and build, but aggressive, very much so, in fact, a born fighter. Happily, the latter trait was peculiarly necessary to the one who held the office of grand secretaryship in this lodge—and to this office Dickson fell heir.

Now Dickson was no ordinary Negro. He was ambitious, not the kind that is likely to be satisfied with the past duties of the order. Because, and it might be well to mention so strange a coincidence: This lodge had not been able to spend all the money that had come into the treasury for burial purposes. So the reserve totalled $40,000 cash. It was confidentially whispered that the officers, a united click, preceding Dickson, had calmly planned, when this amount reached $50,000, to grab it all, and start a colony—for themselves, of course, in Africa. But, alas! enters Dickson, the determined, the ambitious. And if anything can serve to disturb an order like this, it is ambition. In all the years of its existence, the slogan had been to crucify ambition religiously, but Dickson crucified them. At this time, at least, they were relegated to the scrub timber, where they lay dreaming of a time never to return, for "the old order changeth."

In addition to the office of grand secretary, Dickson was an editor, and before the moss-backs had realized it, some years before, he was editing the official mouthpiece, The Independent. They thought little of this, in fact, they didn't care, because, in the first place, no one else cared for that job; it required too much thought to edit a paper that the members would be likely to read. The Independent had come out at spasmodic intervals, reporting, in detail, the death of Miss Sallie Doe, "a member in good standing, who had met her Jesus on the altar of evermore;" or, that Jim Johnson, another member, "had been incarcerated in the county jail, along with many others, for disturbing the peace;" or, that at the revival at the Antioch Baptist church, of which Brother Jasper was the pastor, "a soul stirring revival is going on with scores 'gittin' right with Jesus'," etc., etc., etc. But its greatest ambition, apparently, had been to come before the people, guaranteed not to be read.

So fancy, when, after getting control, Dickson "did it all over." The Independent became "some" paper. It fairly ripped and snorted. It took up the instances of officers that were sluggish and backward and slow, and made great headlines. "Whew!" the members cried, who had never read the paper before. While others declared: "Ah allus knowed dat nigga's crazy!" But everybody began reading the paper. They objected and scrambled and stewed about what was said, called him the biggest liar, bull-dozer, and everything else, but read the paper. So the circulation doubled and trebled and quadrupled, and then doubled all over again, until it was reaching every "live" member of the order. Dickson didn't care whether it reached the others or not, and he told them so; moreover, he said—in not so many words, but it was read between the lines,—that they could go to Hell. They took the paper then.

There came a time at last when the treasury was reeking with Sam's good gold, and Dickson had more enemies than could be counted readily. But Dickson was wise. He had looked deeply into the condition and inborn weakness of these black creatures, and had surmised that they only patronized each other when they mutually hated. If they loved one another, they were allowed to starve to death undisturbed.

He saw that Negroes would only build and occupy an office when the white man refused to rent him anything but the attic—and not even that sometimes. So, with a flare, a blaze and a roar, out came The Independent, and said that the AAASSSSBBBBGG lodge had decided to erect an office building of its own. It was to be six stories in height, of brick, with stone cornices, and what not. Moreover, a picture of it completed appeared on the front page of The Independent. That finished it! They prepared to send him to the mad-house, and forthwith gathered for that purpose, which was what Dickson wanted. They arrived in twos, threes and fours, and then in droves. To the tune and number of thousands they came and were met (?) by a brass band! And away went the music: "Ta-ra—ta—ta-ti-rip-i-ta-ta-ta-tu!" It got into the Negro blood. Music, of all things, always has effect. Before they were aware of it, they were cake-walkin' and doin' the grizzly bear, and it has also been whispered confidentially, that two preachers, high and mighty in the order, "balled the jack." The music stopped for a spell. Through the crowd—the black crowd—came a cry, "Arrah! Arrah! for the Negro, the greatest race since the coming of Christ!" And it was answered: "Arrah! Arrah! So we is. Who said we wasn't!" "The white man!" came back the reply. "He's a liah!" went back the words heatedly. "If so, then," came back, "why do we continue to do our business in his attic? Why?" This was a shock. But before recovery, sayeth the cry: "$50,000 odd we have in the treasury to care for the sick and bury the dead! With $60,000 more we can have a building all our own, with elevators and mirrors and a thousand things, with our own girls to tickle the type and scratch on the books." A wild dream flitted across the minds of these black men, the underdogs, the slaves for a thousand years; their wives, the cooks and the scrub women; their daughters, the lust of the beast. And then from somewhere came another cry. It was soft and low, but firm and regular. It came from a body of women, black women. "With our hands, from the white people's pot, we will give unto thee thousands, and back again to the pots we will go and slave, until our old bones can slave no more, and pay, and pay until a mighty building, the picture of which we have seen, shall stand as a monument to the effort of BLACK PEOPLE!"

And now there was a scramble to the front! It was a scramble as had never been seen in Attalia before! $60,000 was fairly thrown over the heads of one another to B.J. DICKSON, the grand secretary.

Six months and a year had elapsed. And the monument stood serenely in the sunlight, as Sidney Wyeth came down the street that Sunday morn. To the side of this monument stood another, imposing and grand, not yet finished, but soon to be, and it had all come through the indirect efforts of B.J. Dickson. They were not satisfied with the one, when they learned they could do things, but needed another—so they subscribed the necessary funds without effort, and built the other.

Before entering, Sidney walked across the street and viewed the structure from the other side.

Thus he saw his people, as others see them.

For his life had been spent, for the most part, in white civilization.

As he surveyed it carefully, he was relieved to find that, to a stranger, there was nothing to indicate that colored people occupied the building.

An intelligent looking man came out of it, and, crossing the street, bowed casually to Wyeth. The latter, returning it, inquired regarding the building and Dickson, and he was told the following:

"Yes, while there are many who do not give Dickson the credit, he is, nevertheless, the man who has made all that possible."

"Everything is well kept apparently," said Wyeth. "That is unusual for our people."

"That's Dickson," said the other. And then aside he inquired:

"Have you ever been through it?"

"I am just going," said Sidney.

"You should have done so during the week. Any time before one o'clock Saturday."

"Why one o'clock Saturday?"

"Because everything ceases at that time."

"Indeed," Wyeth commented in wide surprise. "System?"

"That's it. That's Dickson."

"Indeed! Does he have charge of everything?"

"Indirectly, yes. That is, he does not own everything, of course not; but it's like this: Do you observe how everything is in order?" Wyeth did, and waited.

"Well," resumed the stranger: "You can bet your boots that it would not be that way, if it were left to those in the buildings altogether. No; they would—some of them—get into a fight, knock out a window or two, and bring a pillow from home, to stick in the hole. The first time it rained and blew in at the window, the plaster would fall. Then, others, posing more than anything else, would have a crap game going on and sell whiskey on the side. As for the letters in gold which you observe on the windows, they are Dickson's ideas. Negroes would use chalk naturally. But Dickson won't stand for anything like that. When anything is amiss, he goes at them, as for instance, those stores in the front. Many of the proprietors, when they empty a box, instead of putting it to the rear, would stick it in the front, right up where every passerby could see it. To augment it further, they would allow dust and dead flies to collect. Cobwebs too and perhaps, pile a few old rags up on the top of it. But B.J. goes to them, as I said, invites them across the street, and shows it to them. He takes them up to one end of the building, and walks them to the other, and allows them to see it as the casual observer would. If he doesn't think or consider this sufficient, he takes them up town, and allows their gaze to compare it with the way things are conducted by the first class white people. And then he says: 'Now just look at it! That's nigga's. Nigga's proper. You conduct your place so that every stranger, seeing the city and the sights, when he gets before this building, realizes at one glance that Negroes occupy it.'"

Sidney laughed a low, amused laugh. The other continued:

"That's why you see things as they are. Our people are not bad to handle. They are, in fact, the most patriotic of all races, and are surely anxious for the success of each other, only they don't know it. They are like a herd without a leader. Dickson's a leader over there."

"Ah!" thought Sidney, "that's where it comes in. The race needs leaders!" Again the other was speaking.

"Of course, we have a great many that would be leaders, oh, yes, indeed! Over there in that building are many who are pining their lives away. They are confident they are leaders, and are exasperated because they have no following. They hate the people because they are not awake to the fact. They declare, that they have even been to school and graduated from college and know everything, which alone should put them at the head. For some peculiar reason, they cannot realize that leaders are born, not made.

"Now you leave the building and wander about over the city, and you will find a score or more of these would-be leaders, all with the same delusion in regard to themselves. They include, for the most part, teachers, preachers and doctors. They are so wrapped up in this idea, that they are utterly incapable of appreciating what the race is actually doing, and trying to do. Of these, perhaps the worst are the teachers. This is probably because they are paid by the county, and do not have to cater to the masses for their support." He paused, and extended his hand. "Glad to know you, stranger, and good-by."

Sidney Wyeth watched him disappear, and then crossed the street to the building, and entered.