In meeting crowds of people at public gatherings, there is one type of individual that I dread.  I mean the crank.  I have become so accustomed to these people now that I can pick them out at a distance when I see them elbowing their way up to me.  The average crank has a long beard, poorly cared for, a lean, narrow face, and wears a black coat.  The front of his vest and coat are slick with grease, and his trousers bag at the knees.

In Chicago, after I had spoken at a meeting, I met one of these fellows.  They usually have some process for curing all of the ills of the world at once.  This Chicago specimen had a patent process by which he said Indian corn could be kept through a period of three or four years, and he felt sure that if the Negro race in the South would, as a whole, adopt his process, it would settle the whole race question.  It mattered nothing that I tried to convince him that our present problem was to teach the Negroes how to produce enough corn to last them through one year.  Another Chicago crank had a scheme by which he wanted me to join him in an effort to close up all the National banks in the country.  If that was done, he felt sure it would put the Negro on his feet.

The number of people who stand ready to consume one’s time, to no purpose, is almost countless.  At one time I spoke before a large audience in Boston in the evening.  The next morning I was awakened by having a card brought to my room, and with it a message that some one was anxious to see me.  Thinking that it must be something very important, I dressed hastily and went down.  When I reached the hotel office I found a blank and innocent-looking individual waiting for me, who coolly remarked:  “I heard you talk at a meeting last night.  I rather liked your talk, and so I came in this morning to hear you talk some more.”

I am often asked how it is possible for me to superintend the work at Tuskegee and at the same time be so much away from the school.  In partial answer to this I would say that I think I have learned, in some degree at least, to disregard the old maxim which says, “Do not get others to do that which you can do yourself.”  My motto, on the other hand, is, “Do not do that which others can do as well.”

One of the most encouraging signs in connection with the Tuskegee school is found in the fact that the organization is so thorough that the daily work of the school is not dependent upon the presence of any one individual.  The whole executive force, including instructors and clerks, now numbers eighty-six.  This force is so organized and subdivided that the machinery of the school goes on day by day like clockwork.  Most of our teachers have been connected with the institutions for a number of years, and are as much interested in it as I am.  In my absence, Mr. Warren Logan, the treasurer, who has been at the school seventeen years, is the executive.  He is efficiently supported by Mrs. Washington, and by my faithful secretary, Mr. Emmett J. Scott, who handles the bulk of my correspondence and keeps me in daily touch with the life of the school, and who also keeps me informed of whatever takes place in the South that concerns the race.  I owe more to his tact, wisdom, and hard work than I can describe.