Uncle Abe Wallis Visits Washington.
A few years ago a story was current of an old darkey from Salisbury, N. C., visiting Washington, D. C., to see the President and obtain social recognition. We name him. Uncle Abe Wallis was an industrious, well-behaved matter-of-fact old darkey who had accumulated the snug sum of forty dollars, and concluded to spend it in the advancement of his social position, and he reasoned that the shortest way to get to the top quick would be to call on the President for recognition. So he paid $15.00 for a ticket and boarded a flyer, and was on his way to the mecca of Afro-American hopes, rights and social privileges, looking disdainfully upon the common blacks as he sped by them along the way, he was soon in the city of equal rights for all with special privileges for none. After being relieved of two dollars for a night’s lodging at a colored hotel, bright and early he inquired the way and set out for the White House, where he expected to take dinner and wanted his name in the pot in time. When he had had an insight of the coveted goal and turned in that direction, he was accosted by a harsh voice, “Whar ye goin’?” “Well, sar; I’se on my way to visit the President.” “This is not the day to see the President.” “Well, I don’t care anything about your arrangements; but this is my day to see him.” “I guess not.” “Captain, call the wagon and give this man a ride.” “Den, befo’ I could parley any mo’ about it, dey chucked me in de wagin and went down one of dem wide roads as hard as dey could tare and soon turned up at a ’spectable enough looking buildin’. Den dey tell me to git out, and when I go in dey feel in my pockets and take my money and say, ‘Guess we better save dis, de bums will clean you up.’ Den dar I was with a passel of no count looking Niggers and some po’ drunken white trash—about de worst company I ever got into. Next mornin’ de Jedge call me out and ax what my name and where I live. I say my name am Abraham Wallis and my home are Salisbury, N. C. Den he say, “What is your business,” and I tell him I am a deacon in our Baptist church. Den he say, “And what is your business here?” an’ I tell him I come specially to visit the President and let him know that there was as good an’ ’spectable colored people in North Carolina as dere was in Alabama. Den he say, “Old man, I’ll discharge you on condition that you take the first train South; you can’t afford to circulate around here; some one will pull your “wad” and you will be stranded along way from home. Go home while you can”; and soon I was comin’ back just as fast as I went. I tell ye I’se seen ’nough of Washington; de colored man haint got no showin’ at all. At Raleigh I can jest walk right into the Governor’s office and nobody’ll say, Where you gwine? and de Governor would say he felt pleased to see me, and he’d give me my dinner too; but he wouldn’t eat with me. I’se hearn about dis yaller Nigger, Booker Washington, who goes up North to eat wid white folks. He runs a big school and a big farm down in Alabama and gits all de young colored boys he can to go to school some and to work on his farm lots; and he tells ’em dey ought to be powerful glad to get to work on de farm, while he sends his own children off to Wesley University, in school wid white children. Take it all round, the honest colored person is respected about as much in North Carolina as anywhere, and I ’spect to stay at home after dis and keep on good terms wid our white folks, for dey is the best after all.”