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      American National Biography Online
      [ illustration ]
      Booker T. Washington.
      Courtesy of the Library of Congress (LC-USZ62-25624).




      Washington, Booker T. (5 Apr. 1856?-14 Nov. 1915), educator and
      race leader, was born on the plantation of James Burroughs, near
      Hale's Ford in Franklin County, Virginia, the son of an unknown
      white father and Jane, a slave cook owned by Burroughs. Washington
      was never certain of the date of his birth and showed little
      interest in who his father might have been. His mother gave him
      his first and middle names, Booker Taliaferro; he took his last
      name in 1870 from his stepfather, Washington Ferguson, a slave
      whom his mother had married. In his autobiography Up from Slavery
      (1901), he recalled the poverty of his early years as a slave
      on Burroughs's plantation, but because emancipation came when
      he was around nine, he was spared the harsher experiences of
      the slave system. In 1865, at the end of the Civil War, his mother
      moved him, his half-sister, and his half-brother to Malden, West
      Virginia, where her husband had found work. Young Booker was
      put to work packing salt from a nearby mine and later did even
      harder work in a coal mine.

      Two women were influential in Washington's early education.
      The first was his mother. He displayed an intense interest in
      learning to read; although illiterate herself, she bought her
      son a spelling book and encouraged him to learn. While working
      in the mines, Washington also began attending a local elementary
      school for black youths. The other female influence was Viola
      Ruffner, wife of General Lewis Ruffner, owner of the mines. Probably
      around the age of eleven, eager to escape the brutal mine work,
      he secured a position as Viola Ruffner's houseboy. She had a
      prickly personality, was a demanding taskmaster, and had driven
      off several other boys, but in the eighteen months he worked
      for her he came to absorb and appreciate her emphasis on the
      values of hard work, cleanliness, and thrift; thereby an unlikely
      bond of affection and respect developed between these two people
      from very different backgrounds. Early on Ruffner spotted the
      ambition in young Washington: "He seemed peculiarly determined
      to emerge from his obscurity. He was ever restless, uneasy, as
      if knowing that contentment would mean inaction. 'Am I getting
      on?'--that was his principal question" (quoted in Gilson Willetts,
      "Slave Boy and Leader of His Race," New Voice 16 [24 June 1899]: 3).

      In 1872, at age sixteen, Washington entered Hampton Normal and
      Agricultural Institute in Hampton, Virginia; it turned out to
      be one of the most important steps of his life. Having overheard
      two miners talking about the school for young blacks, he had
      determined to make his way there and set out on the 500-mile
      trip with a small sum of money donated by family and friends,
      barely enough to take him partway by train. The rest of the monthlong
      journey was on foot or via an occasional passing wagon. He arrived
      with fifty cents in his pocket and asked to be admitted. Ordered
      to clean out a room, and sensing that this might be his entrance
      examination, he swept and dusted until the room was spotless
      and was soon a Hampton student. While there he worked as a custodian
      to help defray his expenses.

      Hampton Institute, only four years old at the time, was a monument
      to its principal, General Samuel Chapman Armstrong, probably
      the single most influential person in Washington's life. Born
      of missionary parents in Hawaii, Armstrong had led black troops
      in the Civil War. Convinced that the future of the freedmen lay
      in practical and industrial education and the instilling of Christian
      virtues, Armstrong had founded Hampton under the auspices of
      the American Missionary Association. In Booker Washington he
      found an extraordinarily apt and ambitious pupil. Washington
      not only learned agriculture, brickmasonry, and the standard
      academic subjects taught at Hampton, more importantly he absorbed
      the entire philosophy of character building and utilitarian education
      stressed by the handsome and charismatic Armstrong.

      After graduating in 1875, Washington returned to Malden for
      three years to teach in a black school and to spread the Hampton
      philosophy. Several months spent at Wayland Seminary, a Baptist
      institution, in Washington, D.C., in 1878-1879 convinced the
      restless young Washington that he was not cut out for the ministry.
      In addition, his exposure to the poverty and degeneracy of lower-class
      urban life instilled in him a lifelong dislike of cities. This
      prejudice would later weaken to a degree his message to his fellow
      blacks to remain in the rural South, at a time when far greater
      job opportunities were to be found in the nation's burgeoning cities.

      Somewhat adrift in the late 1870s, having rejected the ministry,
      law, and public school teaching as viable careers, Washington
      was invited back to Hampton in 1879 by General Armstrong to run
      the night school and later to supervise the dormitory for Indian
      boys, who had recently been admitted. As usual, his performance
      was exemplary. In the spring of 1881 Armstrong received a request
      from three education commissioners in Alabama to recommend a
      white principal for a new Negro normal school to be established
      in Tuskegee. He wrote a persuasive letter urging them to accept
      Washington instead. They agreed, and the young educator was soon
      on the way to what would be his life's work. On arriving in Alabama,
      he learned that the state legislature had appropriated $2,000
      for salaries only. There was no land, no buildings, no campus.

      Plunging into unremitting activity, Washington won over local
      whites in the community, began to recruit black students who
      were hungry for education, and held the first classes in a shanty.
      One of his mentors at Hampton was the school's treasurer, James
      F. B. Marshall, an elderly and kindly ex-general who now began
      coaching Washington in the arts of financial management and extracting
      money from wealthy white benefactors. With a $200 loan from Marshall,
      Washington purchased land outside of town for a permanent campus.
      Student labor erected the initial buildings of Tuskegee Institute,
      and student farming supplied much of the foodstuff for the dormitory
      kitchen. Tuskegee would grow to 2,000 acres and 100 buildings,
      with a faculty of nearly 200 and an endowment close to $2 million
      by the time of Washington's death.

      In spite of Washington's national fame in years to come, Tuskegee
      never ceased to be his base of operations and the enterprise
      to which he devoted most of his time. Each morning began with
      a horseback ride to inspect the campus. He hired and fired faculty,
      admitted and expelled students, oversaw the smallest details
      of finances and purchasing, bought more land when he could, kept
      creditors at bay when he had to, and spent much time cultivating
      northern philanthropists for donations, at which he became extremely
      adept. Among the notable benefactors of Tuskegee were steel magnate
      Andrew Carnegie, oilman John D. Rockefeller, camera manufacturer
      George Eastman, and Julius Rosenwald, president of Sears, Roebuck, and Co.

      In many respects Tuskegee was a "colony" of Hampton Institute,
      as Washington had imbibed General Armstrong's emphasis on industrial
      skills and character building. The vocational curriculum included
      some thirty-eight subjects, including printing, carpentry, cabinetmaking,
      and farming. Female students specialized in cooking, sewing,
      and other domestic skills. In addition to the standard academic
      subjects, from grammar and composition to history, mathematics,
      chemistry, and bookkeeping, strong emphasis was placed on personal
      hygiene and moral development and on daily chapel services. At
      the time of Washington's death the student body numbered more
      than fifteen hundred.

      Unlike Hampton, however, Washington's faculty and administrative
      staff were all black, and many were graduates of Hampton and
      Fisk University. Notable among the staff were botanist and agricultural
      researcher George Washington Carver and Monroe Nathan Work, the
      sociologist and bibliographer of black history and life who spent
      thirty-seven years at Tuskegee as head of the Records and Research
      Department. The highly capable Olivia Davidson, a graduate of
      Hampton and the Framingham State Normal School near Boston, arrived
      in 1881 to serve as principal of the female students and came
      as close as anyone to being Washington's co-superintendent. For
      the last eighteen years of his life, Washington's personal private
      secretary, factotum, and alter ego was Emmett J. Scott, an extraordinarily
      loyal, astute, and circumspect assistant who handled much of
      Washington's correspondence, supervised the Tuskegee office staff,
      and was privy to all of Washington's secret machinations at controlling
      black American politics.

      Washington was married three times. His first wife, Fannie N.
      Smith, his sweetheart from Malden, gave birth to a child in 1883,
      the year after their marriage, but died prematurely the next
      year. In 1885 Washington married Olivia Davidson; they had two
      children. This too was a short marriage, for she had suffered
      from physical maladies for years and died in 1889. Four years
      later he married Margaret J. Murray, a Fisk graduate who had
      replaced Davidson as lady principal. She remained Washington's
      wife for the rest of his life, helping to raise his three children
      and continuing to play a major role at Tuskegee.

      As Tuskegee Institute grew it branched out into other endeavors.
      The annual Tuskegee Negro Conferences, inaugurated in 1892, sought
      solutions for impoverished black farmers through crop diversity
      and education. The National Negro Business League, founded in
      1900, gave encouragement to black enterprises and publicized
      their successes. Margaret Washington hosted women's conferences
      on campus. Washington established National Negro Health Week
      and called attention to minority health issues in addresses nationwide.

      By the mid-1880s Washington was becoming a fixture on the nation's
      lecture circuit. This exposure both drew attention and dollars
      to Tuskegee and allowed the black educator to articulate his
      philosophy of racial advancement. In a notable 1884 address to
      the National Education Association in Madison, Wisconsin, Washington
      touted education for Negroes--"brains, property, and character"--as
      the key to black advancement and acceptance by white southerners.
      "Separate but equal" railroad and other public facilities were
      acceptable to blacks, he argued, as long as they really were
      equal. This speech foreshadowed the accommodationist racial compromises
      he would preach for the rest of his life. During the 1880s and
      1890s Washington went out of his way to soft-pedal racial insults
      and attacks on blacks (including himself) by whites. He courted
      southern white politicians who were racial moderates, arguing
      that black Americans had to exhibit good citizenship, hard work,
      and elevated character in order to win the respect of the "better
      sort" of whites. Full political and social equality would result
      in all due time, he maintained.

      The apogee of Washington's career as a spokesman for his race
      occurred at the opening of Atlanta's Cotton States and International
      Exposition in September 1895. This was one of a number of such
      fairs held to highlight the South's progress since the Civil
      War. Blacks had their own, albeit segregated, exhibit space at
      the exposition, and the Atlanta leaders of the affair invited
      Washington to give a ten-minute address. He spent much time honing
      the speech, sensing its symbolic importance, and was uncharacteristically
      nervous as 18 September approached.

      Dubbed the "Atlanta Compromise," the speech was a masterpiece
      of tact and ambiguity intended to impress all members of the
      integrated audience--northern whites, southern whites, and blacks
      from the South. It had all been said before by Washington but
      never as succinctly and before such an important gathering. Though
      acceding realistically to the deplorable state of race relations
      in the United States at that time, Washington seemed to accept
      the existence of segregation for his people and urged them not
      to push for integrated facilities and other civil and political
      rights. "The wisest among my race understand that the agitation
      of questions of social equality is the extremest folly, and that
      progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come
      to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather
      than of artificial forcing." He urged southern Negroes to "cast
      down your bucket where you are"--stay in the South, gain education,
      and through hard work win the economic advancement that would
      also gain them the respect of their white neighbors. He reminded
      his white listeners that the blacks among them made up one-third
      of the South's population and that the fates of the two races
      were inextricably bound. The climax of the speech, which brought
      the audience to its feet in thunderous applause, was the memorable
      sentence: "In all things that are purely social we can be as
      separate as the fingers, yet one as the hand in all things essential
      to mutual progress."

      The Atlanta Compromise speech unquestionably secured Washington's
      position as the leading spokesman for American blacks to the
      larger white community and particularly to the white power structure
      of American politics, and it was lavishly praised by white leaders.
      Symbolically the torch of black leadership had also been passed
      to a younger generation, inasmuch as Frederick Douglass, the
      former slave turned abolitionist, orator, and journalist, who
      had been the most notable black American of his day, had died
      a few months before Washington spoke. Washington had tapped into
      the classic American myth that hard work, self-discipline, and
      economic independence would win for any citizen the respect of
      his neighbors. He conveniently ignored or chose to omit the fact
      that at the very time he spoke American race relations were at
      their worst point since the end of the Civil War, with lynchings
      and other violence, grinding poverty, and legal and extralegal
      discrimination at the ballot box a fact of life for most American
      blacks. The U.S. Supreme Court's decision the very next year
      in Plessy v. Ferguson would place the fiction of "separate but
      equal" on segregated public facilities.

      Yet the decade after 1895 was for Washington the most influential
      period of his life, if that influence is measured by his demand
      as a speaker and the power he wielded among white political leaders.
      In 1898 President William McKinley paid a visit to Tuskegee Institute.
      McKinley's successor, Theodore Roosevelt, had been a friend of
      Washington's for several years. The relationship between president
      and educator began on an inauspicious note when Roosevelt, one
      month after taking office in 1901, invited Washington to dinner
      at the White House. Although other blacks had visited the executive
      mansion on occasion since at least the time of Abraham Lincoln,
      the Roosevelt-Washington dinner set off a firestorm of outrage,
      especially in the southern white press. Washington was chagrined
      by the whole affair; Roosevelt made light of it to his southern
      friend but privately called it a "mistake" and never again invited
      minorities to the White House.

      The dinner aside, the relationship between the two men was unusually
      close. Roosevelt regularly though privately consulted Washington
      on matters involving race and southern policies, and almost all
      of the minority political appointments Roosevelt made as president
      were first cleared with the Tuskegeean. Washington's relationship
      with Roosevelt's successor, William Howard Taft, was cooler,
      given Taft's greater reluctance than Roosevelt to make significant
      black political appointments; but Washington scored an occasional
      minor victory with Taft, and it was one of the many ironies of
      his career that while he urged ordinary blacks to eschew politics
      and humbly go about their daily work, he himself wielded more
      political power than any other black American of his day.

      Washington's prolific writing also helped to spread his influence;
      moreover, much of the royalties from his books went into the
      coffers of Tuskegee. He wrote scores of articles and ten books,
      often with the help of ghost-writers, due to his busy schedule.
      Among them were The Future of the American Negro (1899), a collection
      of his articles and speeches; The Story of My Life and Work (1900),
      the first of three autobiographies; Up from Slavery (1901), his
      most critically acclaimed autobiography, translated into some
      eighteen languages; Working with the Hands (1904); The Negro
      in Business and a biography of Frederick Douglass, both in 1907;
      My Larger Education (1911), the last of the trilogy about his
      own life; and The Man Farthest Down (1912), based on a European tour.

      Washington's power involved not only close relationships with
      influential white political leaders and industrialists but also
      a secret network of contacts with journalists and various organizations.
      He schemed with white and black Alabamians to try to keep other
      black schools from locating near Tuskegee. He engineered political
      appointments for supporters in the black community as a way of
      solidifying his own power base. He planted spies in organizations
      unfriendly to him to report on their activities and at one time
      even used a detective agency briefly. Despite public denials,
      Washington owned partial interests in some minority newspapers.
      This allowed him to plant stories and to influence their news
      coverage and editorial stands in ways beneficial to himself.
      Beginning in the mid-1880s, and lasting for some twenty years,
      he maintained a clandestine relationship with T. Thomas Fortune,
      editor of the New York Age, the leading black newspaper of its
      day. He helped support the paper financially, was one of its
      stockholders, and quietly endorsed many of Fortune's militant
      stands for voting and other civil rights and against lynching.
      He also supported the Afro-American League, a civil rights organization
      founded by Fortune in 1887. Washington secretly provided financial
      and legal support for court challenges to all-white juries in
      Alabama, segregated transportation facilities, and disfranchisement
      of black voters. As black suffrage decreased nonetheless around
      the turn of the century, Washington struggled to keep a modicum
      of black influence and patronage in the Republican party in the
      South. From 1908 to 1911 he played a major, though covert, role
      in the successful effort to get the U.S. Supreme Court to overturn
      a harsh Alabama peonage law under which Alonzo Bailey, a black
      Alabama farmer, had been convicted.

      It is clear, from research in Washington's massive correspondence,
      that he supported the full agenda of civil and political rights
      put forward by Fortune, the Afro-American League, and later the
      National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. But
      he refused to go public with such efforts, fearing, probably
      rightly, that to reveal his involvement would undercut if not
      destroy his support from white politicians and philanthropists
      and perhaps threaten his beloved Tuskegee. Emmett Scott was one
      of very few blacks who knew the full range of Washington's secret
      activities; certainly no whites did.

      After about 1900 Washington came under increasing criticism
      from black opponents who questioned his measured and nonaggressive
      responses to legalized segregation, loss of voting rights, and
      violence against blacks. His critics referred disrespectfully
      to his enormous influence as the Tuskegee Machine. Among the
      most vocal were William Monroe Trotter, the militant editor of
      the Boston Guardian, and noted sociologist W. E. B. Du Bois.
      In his The Souls of Black Folk (1903) Du Bois launched a strong
      indictment of Washington's accommodationist philosophy toward
      the terrible racial climate of the time. Du Bois and others also
      questioned Washington's emphasis on vocational and industrial
      education, claiming that the black race needed college-educated
      professionals in its fight against discrimination and injustice.

      A series of setbacks after the turn of the century illustrated
      how little effect Washington's moderation had had in ameliorating
      the nation's tense racial climate. The uproar over the 1901 dinner
      with President Roosevelt was a harbinger of worse things to come.
      In September 1906 five days of frenzied racial violence rocked
      Atlanta, the supposedly progressive capital of the New South.
      After the violence subsided, at least eleven citizens, ten black
      and one white, were dead, many other blacks were injured, and
      black areas of the city experienced destruction. Washington gave
      his usual muted response, urging Atlanta's blacks to exercise
      "self-control" and not compound the lawless white behavior with
      violence of their own. He was, however, instrumental in bringing
      leaders of both races together after the riot to begin the healing process.


      Also in 1906 occurred the notorious Brownsville affair. In August
      an undetermined group of people shot up an area of Brownsville,
      Texas, nearby Fort Brown, where black infantry soldiers were
      stationed. One white man was killed. The racial climate was already
      strained due to previous attacks on soldiers by local residents.
      Townspeople assumed that the soldiers had done the shooting in
      retaliation for the previous attacks. All of the black soldiers
      vehemently denied their involvement, however, and there was no
      compelling evidence or proof whatsoever of their guilt. In spite
      of Washington's pleas not to do so, President Roosevelt dishonorably
      dismissed three companies of the black troops, creating an uproar
      among blacks and liberal whites.

      Exasperated with Washington's low-key responses in the Atlanta
      and Brownsville cases, his old friend Fortune finally broke with
      him. More serious for Washington was the founding of the National
      Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in
      1909. Melvin J. Chisum, a northern confidant of Emmett Scott,
      had infiltrated Trotter's Boston Suffrage League and later the
      Niagara Movement, the forerunner of the NAACP, and reported the
      activities of both groups back to Tuskegee. Characteristically,
      Washington had a spy planted at the NAACP's founding meeting.
      Nonetheless he was unable to prevent the creation of the NAACP,
      the membership of which included blacks, sympathetic white progressives,
      Jews, and even a few white southerners, or to influence its agenda,
      which included a broad-based call for a major assault on all
      fronts against racial injustice and white supremacy. Washington's
      old nemesis Du Bois became editor of the organization's monthly
      magazine, the Crisis. Although Washington privately supported
      many of the goals of the NAACP, his concern was its threat to
      his own power within the black community.

      An ugly incident that took place in New York City on the evening
      of 19 March 1911 illustrates how little protection was then afforded
      to a black person, even one as eminent as Washington, under certain
      circumstances. While scanning the residents' directory in the
      vestibule of an apartment building in search of a friend, Washington
      was assaulted and repeatedly struck on the head by Henry Ulrich,
      a white resident of the apartment. Ulrich first claimed that
      Washington was a burglar; the second version of his story was
      that the black educator was looking through the keyhole of a
      white woman's apartment and that he had made an improper advance
      toward Ulrich's wife. Washington charged him with assault, and
      the ensuing trial received much national publicity. Washington
      won considerable support from the black community, even from
      his critics. Ulrich's acquittal in the face of overwhelming evidence
      illustrated the difficulties that even a prominent black man
      could have with the American justice system in the early twentieth century.


      Washington died of overwork and arteriosclerosis at Tuskegee,
      shortly after returning from New York City, where he had been hospitalized.


      Assessments of Washington by his contemporaries and, later,
      by historians have been wide-ranging and contentious, revealing,
      if nothing else, his complexity and many-sidedness. In the 1960s
      his secret life emerged as scholars began to plumb the one million
      documents in his collected papers. They reveal a much more complex,
      manipulative, secretive, vain, and at times deceptive individual
      than the inspiring and benign image that Washington himself so
      assiduously cultivated in his own lifetime. Indeed, he likely
      enjoyed leading this "double life."

      To most of his students and faculty at Tuskegee, and to millions
      of poor blacks nationwide, he was a self-made and beneficent,
      if stern, Moses leading them out of slavery and into the promised
      land. He tirelessly preached an upbeat, optimistic view of the
      future of his fellow blacks. "When persons ask me," he said once,
      "how, in the midst of what sometimes seem hopelessly discouraging
      conditions, I can have such faith in the future of my race in
      this country, I remind them of the wilderness through which and
      out of which a good Providence has already led us." When he also
      wrote that he would "permit no man, no matter what his color,
      to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him," he was
      undoubtedly sincere. His message to his fellow blacks that hard
      work, good citizenship, patient fortitude in the face of adversity,
      and love would ultimately conquer the hatred of the white man
      was appealing to the majority of whites of his time and foreshadowed
      the similar message of a later leader, Martin Luther King, Jr.

      Washington's hardscrabble "up from slavery" background made
      it difficult for him to communicate with his college-educated
      critics, such as Trotter and Du Bois. They in turn, from the
      comfort of their editorial offices in the North, were perhaps
      unable to fathom the pressures and constraints from the white
      community that southern educators like Washington had to deal
      with on a daily basis. Yet their point that the race needed lawyers
      and doctors as well as farmers and bricklayers was valid, and
      the growing crescendo of criticism against Washington on this
      issue made the last decade of his life probably his most difficult.
      The irony, of course, was that Washington was secretly supporting
      the campaign against legal segregation and racial violence and
      for full civil rights. But he was unwilling to reveal his covert
      role for fear that it would undercut his power base among blacks
      and sympathetic whites, and he was doubtlessly right.

      Close analysis of Washington's autobiographies and speeches
      reveals a vagueness and subtlety to his message lost on most
      people of his time, whites and blacks alike. He never said that
      American minorities would forever forgo the right to vote, to
      gain a full education, or to enjoy the fruits of an integrated
      society. But he strategically chose not to force the issue in
      the face of the overwhelming white hostility that was the reality
      of American race relations in the late nineteenth and early twentieth
      centuries. In this sense, he did what he had to do to assure
      the survival of himself and the people for whom he spoke.


      Bibliography

      Most of Washington's papers are in the Library of Congress.
      A smaller but important collection is at Tuskegee Institute.
      The major published collection is The Booker T. Washington Papers,
      ed. Louis R. Harlan and Raymond W. Smock (14 vols. 1972-1989).
      The earliest biography, Emmett J. Scott and Lyman Beecher Stowe,
      Booker T. Washington: Builder of a Civilization (1916), is predictably
      laudatory, with long passages from his writings. Basil Mathews,
      Booker T. Washington, Educator and Interracial Interpreter (1948),
      is inadequate. Samuel R. Spencer, Jr., Booker T. Washington and
      the Negro's Place in American Life (1955), is brief and balanced.
      The most-comprehensive biography is Harlan's superb two-volume
      Booker T. Washington: The Making of a Black Leader, 1856-1901
      (1972) and Booker T. Washington: The Wizard of Tuskegee, 1901-1915
      (1983); Harlan was the first biographer to plunge into the massive
      Washington correspondence and ferret out his secret machinations.
      Hugh Hawkins, ed., Booker T. Washington and His Critics: The
      Problem of Negro Leadership (1962), and Emma Lou Thornbrough,
      ed., Booker T. Washington (1969), are useful collections of historical
      assessments. August Meier, Negro Thought in America, 1880-1915:
      Racial Ideologies in the Age of Booker T. Washington (1963),
      is a significant study of Washington and his critics. Rayford
      W. Logan, The Betrayal of the Negro (1965), has a good assessment
      of the Atlanta Compromise speech and nationwide reactions to
      it. August Meier and Elliott Rudwick, From Plantation to Ghetto
      (1976), has a short but perceptive portrayal of Washington. An
      obituary is in the New York Times, 15 Nov. 1915.

      William F. Mugleston


      Online Resources

      Booker T. Washington, My Larger Education; Being Chapters
      from My Experience, 1911
      http://metalab.unc.edu/docsouth/washeducation/menu.html
      From the Documenting the American South Collection, University
      of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Booker T. Washington, Up from
      Slavery: An Autobiography, 1901
      http://metalab.unc.edu/docsouth/washington/menu.html
      From the Documenting the American South Collection, University
      of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

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      Citation:
      William F. Mugleston. "Washington, Booker T.";
      http://www.anb.org/articles/15/15-00737.html;
      American National Biography Online Feb. 2000.
      Access Date:
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      by Oxford University Press. All rights reserved.





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