The enthusiastic reception of his story by the editors and later by the public was accordingly particularly surprising and gratifying to him. After its serial publication he was soon almost overwhelmed with congratulatory letters and laudatory reviews. Julian Ralph in the New York Mail and Express wrote in part:
"It does not matter if the reader feels a prejudice against the Negro, or if he be a Negrophile, or if he has never cared one way or the other whether the Negro does or does not exist. Whatever be his feelings, 'Up from Slavery' is as remarkable as the most important book ever written by an American. That book is 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' Booker Washington's story is its echo and its antithesis. 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' was the wail of a fettered, hope-forsaken race. 'Up from Slavery' is the triumphant cry of the same race, led by its Moses upon a trail which leads to an intelligent use of the freedom that came to it as an almost direct result of Mrs. Stowe's revolutionary novel. 'Up from Slavery' and 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' are inseparably linked in the history of our relations with our dark-skinned fellow-citizen. One book begins precisely where the other left off."
William Dean Howells in the North American Review said of it: "... What strikes you first and last is his constant common sense. He has lived heroic poetry, and he can, therefore, afford to talk simple prose.... The mild might of his adroit, his subtle statesmanship (in the highest sense it is not less than statesmanship, and involves a more Philippine problem in our midst), is the only agency to which it can yield...."
Among the congratulatory letters came one from Athens, Greece, signed "Bob Burdette, Mrs. Burdette, and the children" which greatly amused and delighted Mr. Washington. It reads, paraphrasing the passage in the book where he tells of the insistent stranger who unerringly seeks him out when he tries to get a little quiet and rest on a train, "'Is not this Booker T. Washington? We wish to introduce ourselves.' You see, you can't escape it. We read that sentence, and shouted with delight over it, in Damascus. I was going to write—'far-away Damascus'—but no place is far away now. Damascus is very near to Tuskegee, in fact, only six or seven thousand years older, and not more than fifty thousand years behind. It must have had a good start, too, for Abraham went there or sent there to get that wise and tactful 'steward of his house,' Eliezir. But Damascus has always remained in the same place, whereas Tuskegee has been marching on by leaps and bounds. But you are a busy man—we have heard that, even in this land. And I can see you reading this letter five lines at a time. No use sitting next the window, piling your hand-baggage up in the seat, and pulling your hat over your eyes, is there? No, for we come along just the same, sit on the arm of the seat, touch your elbow, and—'Is not this Booker T. Washington?' We have been travelling for a year. The Outlook has followed us week by week. And week by week we have reached out to clasp your hand, and have knelt to thank God for the story of your life—for its inspiration, its hopefulness, its trust, its fidelity to duty and purpose. Such a wonderful story, told in the elegance of simplicity that only a great heart can feel and write. We paused again and again to say 'God bless him.' And now we send you our hand clasp and message—'God bless him and all of his.' There, now! You may pile up your baggage a little higher—pull your hat down over your eyes a little farther—and pretend to sleep a little harder. We will leave you. But not in peace. More likely in pieces. For I see other people, crowding in from the other car, with their glittering eyes gimleted upon you."
Barret Wendell, Professor of English at Harvard University, wrote him: "Will you allow me to express the pleasure which your book, 'Up from Slavery,' has given me? For about twenty years a teacher of English, and mostly of English composition, I have become perhaps a judge as to matters of style. Certainly I have grown less and less patient of all writing which is not simple and efficient; and more and more to believe in a style which does its work with a simple, manly distinctness. It is hard to remember when a book, casually taken up, has proved, in this respect, so satisfactory as yours. No style could be more simple, more unobtrusive; yet few styles which I know seem, to me more laden—as distinguished from overburdened—with meaning. On almost any of your pages you say as much again as most men would say in the space; yet you say it so simply and easily that one has no effort in reading. One is simply surprised at the quiet power which can so make words do their work."
Thus was received the simple narrative of his life up to this time as hastily written down in odd moments snatched from his already overcrowded days. In this country alone more than 110,000 copies of the book have since been sold. It has been translated into French, Spanish, German, Hindustani, and Braille.
Booker Washington's philosophy as to money raising after a generation of constant and successful experience was summed up in this statement which he made in "Up from Slavery": "My experience in getting money for Tuskegee has taught me to have no patience with those people who are always condemning the rich because they are rich, because they do not give more to objects of charity. In the first place, those who are guilty of such sweeping criticisms do not know how many people would be made poor, and how much suffering would result, if wealthy people were to part all at once with any large proportion of their wealth in a way to disorganize and cripple great business enterprises. Then very few people have any idea of the large number of applications for help that rich people are constantly being flooded with. I know wealthy people who receive as many as twenty calls a day for help. More than once, when I have gone into offices of rich men, I have found half a dozen persons waiting to see them, and all come for the same purpose, that of securing money. And all these calls in person, to say nothing of the applications received through the mails. Very few people have any idea of the amount of money given away by persons who never permit their names to be known. I have often heard persons condemned for not giving away money, who, to my own knowledge, were giving away thousands of dollars every year so quietly that the world knew nothing about it.... Although it has been my privilege to be the medium through which a good many hundred thousand dollars have been received for the work at Tuskegee, I have always avoided what the world calls 'begging.' My experience and observation have convinced me that persistent asking outright for money from the rich does not, as a rule, secure help. I have usually proceeded on the principle that persons who possess sense enough to earn money have sense enough to know how to give it away, and that the mere making known of the facts regarding the work of the graduates has been more effective than outright begging. I think that the presentation of facts, on a high, dignified plane, is all the begging that most rich people care for."
Although this favorable estimate of the money-giving rich was based upon many years of successful experience it must not be supposed that Booker Washington did not have his share of rebuffs and discouragements. In fact, scarcely a day went by that he did not receive some such disheartening rebuff as the following note from a man who had for several years contributed a small sum each year to Tuskegee Institute:
——, May 10, 1913.
Mr. Warren Logan, Treasurer, Tuskegee Institute, Tuskegee, Ala.