Mary McLeod Bethune

Return

P O Box 1124
Daytona Beach
Florida

September 26, 1946

Mr. Dan Williams
Washington, D.C.

My dear Mr. Williams:

A wonder working power has been like magic leaven here at Bethune-Cookman College since school opened. Everyone seems willing and delighted to carry his load. And the loads are heavy. We have five hundred and thirty odd students and everywhere is crowded. The proverbial American lines are prevalent around us when students go for meals, or for books or for any need. All of the classrooms sweat and bulge with eager students. The Lady is a magic worker with administration and students and teachers are delighted. I have written in my notes little paragraphs here and there which I determine to send to you but they just don’t get out.

The $100,000 drive, invitations across the State, Testing, Secondary Education work and Elementary Education Work are mine to think about. My syllabi are still unfinished and my Lady still has no secretary and I am filling in.

My mother heart squeezes in between the professional moments to ache a little. Lovell went to Niagara Falls as was the plan but the Headmaster looked at him and said, “Oh, we didn’t know Lovell was colored.” From April to July they were clearing his eligibility. I met the requirements by filling in blanks of one sort or the other. Since he returned I have had a letter from the headmaster in which he states, “I forgot to ask for a picture because I was so sure that Lovell was a white boy.” Everything was all right, though, and he met requirements until they saw the color of his skin. The Doctor’s certification passed his health on; the Priests’ statements averred his moral character; the Principals of the schools showed his scholarship superior. He was a boy in all those respects; but God gave him a beautiful brown and he was rejected at the Church School. Well, he went into Canada, made pictures of the falls, came back to Philadelphia and saw Joe Louis defend his title via television — then home to Florida. There were compensations and he smiled and laughed and said, “I got mad at the headmaster, mother. He’s just a weak man.” I took him to Fessenden Academy down in Martin Florida, Sunday. It is a little school way out in the open country six miles from Ocala. He didn’t have a bed when I left. They were going to find him a cot. At Niagara Falls he saw the soft bed in the room set aside for him. He ate at the table they had planned for him. He tried on the cadet uniforms they had planned for him to wear. He looked at me in Fessenden and said, “Oh, [begin Page two]

Mother, you should have seen those lovely beds at DeVeaux; I just wanted to sleep there one night. He will never forget. This is the first problem with color.

We have had many problems since Mrs. B’s return and I haven’t had time to ask her about a visit with you. I was thrilled with the last chapter you wrote. My, how simple, yet how majestic in revelation of the idea. We had to read it to several friends.

Thanks for my books. I have started the “Growth of the Soil”. I expect to do them both this week end.

Thanks again for sharing of yourself with me and for the inspiration I gained from knowing you. My spiritual stature is higher than before.

Remember me kindly to your family.

Sincerely yours,

Florence