image from Library of Congress
The Slave Narratives
The Slave Narratives
Developed by Phillip Brown and Tony Devaney Morinelli
with the students of The Shipley School, Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.
THE SLAVE NARRATIVES
Excerpts taken from the National Archives in Washington D.C.
These statements are excerpts from actual interviews conducted as part of the writers’ project from 1936 to 1938. The interviews were recorded from people then still alive who had experienced slavery.
To see the complete and extensive selection of narratives go to:
http://lcweb2.loc.gov/ammem/snhtml/
The following is the production produced by the Performing Arts Department of the Shipley School in November of 2008, as compiled and directed by Phillip Brown.
You may use this text as a model and insert or delete narratives as you see fit.
THE SLAVE NARRATIVES
The stage is black. African drums are heard off in the distance. As the lights fade up, we see African families fellowshipping with one another, full of happiness and peace. Without warning, the drumming is interrupted by the sound of the slave catchers. The slave catchers are symbolically portrayed by the sound of imperialistic music. All the slaves, except one, Frederick Douglass, exit the stage.
Frederick Douglas hears the voice of a Matriarchal Angel, singing a prophetic hymn behind him. As he rises to his feet, he never turns around to see where the voice is coming from. After the voice trails off, he speaks.
Frederick Douglas
Why am I a slave? Why are some people slaves and others masters? Was there ever a time when this was not so? How did that relation commence? My name is Frederick Douglas. I was born a slave in Talbot Maryland on February 14, 1818… Why are some people slaves and others masters? These were the perplexing questions which began now to claim my thoughts.
Slave #1 (Wilamena Moore, 82)
Some Sundays we went to church some place. We allus liked to go any place. A white preacher allus told us to ‘bey our masters and work hard and sing and when we die we go to Heaven. Masrse Tom didn’t mind us singin’ in our cabins at night, but we better not let him cotch us prayin. Seems like niggers jus’ got to pray. Half they life am in prayin’. Some nigger take turn ‘bout to watch and see if mares Tom Anyways ‘bout, then they circle theyselves on the floor in the cabin and pray. They git to moanin’ low and gentle, ‘Some day, some day, some day, this yoke gwine be lifted offen our shoulders.’ Marse Tom been dead long time now. I ‘lieve he’s in hell. Seem like that where he ‘long. He was terrible mean man and had a indiff’ent, mean wife. But he had the fines’, sweetes’ chillum the Lawd ever let live and breathe on this earth. They’s so kind and sorrowin’ over us slaves. Some them chillum used to read us li’l things out of papers and books. We’d look at them papers and books like they somethin’ mighty curious, but we better not let Marse Tom or his wife know it!
Frederick Douglass
How did people know that God made black people to be slaves? Did they go up in the sky and learn it? Or did He come down and tell them so? All was dark here. It was some relief to my hared notions of the goodness of God that, although he made white men to be slave holders, he did not make them to be bad slaveholders, and that in due time he would punish the bad slaveholders – that he would, when they died, send them to the bad place where they would be “burnt up”… Nevertheless, I could not reconcile the relation of Slavery with my crude notions of goodness. Then, too, I found that there were puzzling exceptions to this theory of slavery on both sides, and in the middle. I know of blacks who were not slaves; I knew of whites who were not slaveholders; and I knew of persons who were nearly white, who were slaves.
Slave #3 (Henry Bibb)
The next morning I went home with my new master, a Cherokee Indian, and by the way, it is only doing justice to the dead to say that he was the most reasonable and humane slaveholder that I have ever belonged to. They have no respect of persons do not discriminate, they have neither slave laws nor negro pews. Neither do they separate husbands and wives, nor parents and children. All things considered, if I must be a slave, I had by far rather be a slave to an Indian than to a white man, from the experience I have had with both.
Frederick Douglass
I was not very long in finding out the true solution of the matter. It was not color, but crime, not God, but man, that afforded the true explanation of the existence of slavery; nor was I long in finding out neither important truth, that is to say: what man can make, man can unmake.
Slave #4 Sarah Gudger (121)
I membahs de time when mah mammy wah alive, I wah a small chile, afoah dey tuck huh t’ Rims Crick. All us chillens wah playin’ in de ya’d one night. Jes’ arunnin’ an’ aplayin’ lak chillum will. All a sudden mmammy cum to de do’ all a’sited. “Cum in heah dis minnit,” she say. “Jes look up at what is ahappenin,” and bless yo’ life, honey, da sta’s wah fallin’ jes’ lak rain. Mammy wah tebble skeered, but we chillen wa’nt afeard, no, we wa’nt afeard. But mammy she say evah time a sta’ fall, somebuddy gonna die. Look lak lotta folks gonna die f’om de looks ob dem sta’s. don’ shine as bright as dey did back den. I wondah wy dey don’. Dey jes’ don’ shine as bright. Wa’nt long afoah dey took mah mammy away, and I wah lef’ alone.
On de plantation wah an ole women whut de boss bought f’om a drovah up in Virginny. De boss he bought huh f’om one ob de specalaters. She laff an’ tell us: “Some ob dese days yo’ all gwine be free, jes’ lak de white folks,” but we all laff at huh. No, we jes’ slaves, we allus hafta wok and nevah be free. Den when freedom cum, she say: “I tole yo’all, now yo’ got no nothing’, got no home; whut yo’ gwine do?”
Slave #5 ( Tempie Cummins, Age Unknown)
The white chillum tries teach me to read and write but I didn’ larn much, ‘cause I allus workin’. Mother was workin in the house, and she cooked too. She say she used to hide in the chimney corner and listen to what the white folks say. When freedom was’clared, marster wouldn’ tell ‘em, but mother she hear him tellin’ mistus that the slaves was free but they didn’ know it and he’s not gwineter tell ‘em till he makes another crop or two. When mother hear that she say she slip out the chimney corner and crack her heels together four times and shouts, “I’s free, I’s free.’ Then she runs to the field, ‘gainst marster’s will and tol’ all the other slaves and they quit work. Then she run away and in the night she slip into a big ravine near the house and have them bring me to her. Marster, he come out with his gun and shot at mother but she run down the ravine and gits away with me.
Frederick Douglass
If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground’ they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.
Slave #6 (Walter Rimm, 80 )
My pappy wasn’t ‘fraid of nothin’. He am light cullud from de white blood, and he runs away sev’ral times. Dere am big woods all round and we sees lots of run-awayers. One old fellow name John been a run-awayer for four years and de patterrollers tries all dey tricks, but dey can’t cotch him. Dey wants him bad, ‘cause it’spire other slaves to run away if he stays a-loose. Dey sots de trap for him. Dey knows he like good eats, sodey’ranges for a quiltin’ and gives chitlin’s and lye hominy. John comes and am inside when de patterrollers rides up to de door. Everybody gits quiet and John stands near de door, and when dey starts to come in he grabs de shovel full of hot ashes and throws dem into de patterrollers faces. He gits through and runs off, hollerin’, ‘Bird in de air!’
One woman name Rhodie runs off for long spell. De hounds won’t hunt her. She steals hot light bread… when dey puts it in de window to cool and lives on dat. She told my mammy how to keep de hounds from followin’ you is to take black pepper and put it in you socks and run without you shoes. It make de hounds sneeze. One day I’s in de woods and meets de nagger runawayer. He comes to de cabin and mammy makes him a bacon and egg sandwich and we never seed him again. Maybe he done got clear to Mexico, where a lot of de slaves runs to.
Frederick Douglass into the distance to reflect he hears, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in his head.
Poet #1
The Great Poet (Dark Symphony )
The centuries-old pathos in our voices
Saddens the great white world
And the wizardry of our dusky rhythms
Conjures up shadow-shapes of ante-bellum years:
Black slaves singing (cast) One More River to Cross
In the torture tombs of slave-ship,
Black slaves singing Steal Away to Jesus
In jungle swamps
Black slaves singing The Crucifixion
In slave-pens at midnight,
Black slaves singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
In cabins of death,
Black slaves singing Go Down, Moses
In the canebrakes of the Southern Pharaohs.
Frederick Douglass
Excerpts taken from the National Archives in Washington D.C.
These statements are excerpts from actual interviews conducted as part of the writers’ project from 1936 to 1938. The interviews were recorded from people then still alive who had experienced slavery.
To see the complete and extensive selection of narratives go to:
http://lcweb2.loc.gov/ammem/snhtml/
The following is the production produced by the Performing Arts Department of the Shipley School in November of 2008, as compiled and directed by Phillip Brown.
You may use this text as a model and insert or delete narratives as you see fit.
THE SLAVE NARRATIVES
The stage is black. African drums are heard off in the distance. As the lights fade up, we see African families fellowshipping with one another, full of happiness and peace. Without warning, the drumming is interrupted by the sound of the slave catchers. The slave catchers are symbolically portrayed by the sound of imperialistic music. All the slaves, except one, Frederick Douglass, exit the stage.
Frederick Douglas hears the voice of a Matriarchal Angel, singing a prophetic hymn behind him. As he rises to his feet, he never turns around to see where the voice is coming from. After the voice trails off, he speaks.
Frederick Douglas
Why am I a slave? Why are some people slaves and others masters? Was there ever a time when this was not so? How did that relation commence? My name is Frederick Douglas. I was born a slave in Talbot Maryland on February 14, 1818… Why are some people slaves and others masters? These were the perplexing questions which began now to claim my thoughts.
Slave #1 (Wilamena Moore, 82)
Some Sundays we went to church some place. We allus liked to go any place. A white preacher allus told us to ‘bey our masters and work hard and sing and when we die we go to Heaven. Masrse Tom didn’t mind us singin’ in our cabins at night, but we better not let him cotch us prayin. Seems like niggers jus’ got to pray. Half they life am in prayin’. Some nigger take turn ‘bout to watch and see if mares Tom Anyways ‘bout, then they circle theyselves on the floor in the cabin and pray. They git to moanin’ low and gentle, ‘Some day, some day, some day, this yoke gwine be lifted offen our shoulders.’ Marse Tom been dead long time now. I ‘lieve he’s in hell. Seem like that where he ‘long. He was terrible mean man and had a indiff’ent, mean wife. But he had the fines’, sweetes’ chillum the Lawd ever let live and breathe on this earth. They’s so kind and sorrowin’ over us slaves. Some them chillum used to read us li’l things out of papers and books. We’d look at them papers and books like they somethin’ mighty curious, but we better not let Marse Tom or his wife know it!
Frederick Douglass
How did people know that God made black people to be slaves? Did they go up in the sky and learn it? Or did He come down and tell them so? All was dark here. It was some relief to my hared notions of the goodness of God that, although he made white men to be slave holders, he did not make them to be bad slaveholders, and that in due time he would punish the bad slaveholders – that he would, when they died, send them to the bad place where they would be “burnt up”… Nevertheless, I could not reconcile the relation of Slavery with my crude notions of goodness. Then, too, I found that there were puzzling exceptions to this theory of slavery on both sides, and in the middle. I know of blacks who were not slaves; I knew of whites who were not slaveholders; and I knew of persons who were nearly white, who were slaves.
Slave #3 (Henry Bibb)
The next morning I went home with my new master, a Cherokee Indian, and by the way, it is only doing justice to the dead to say that he was the most reasonable and humane slaveholder that I have ever belonged to. They have no respect of persons do not discriminate, they have neither slave laws nor negro pews. Neither do they separate husbands and wives, nor parents and children. All things considered, if I must be a slave, I had by far rather be a slave to an Indian than to a white man, from the experience I have had with both.
Frederick Douglass
I was not very long in finding out the true solution of the matter. It was not color, but crime, not God, but man, that afforded the true explanation of the existence of slavery; nor was I long in finding out neither important truth, that is to say: what man can make, man can unmake.
Slave #4 Sarah Gudger (121)
I membahs de time when mah mammy wah alive, I wah a small chile, afoah dey tuck huh t’ Rims Crick. All us chillens wah playin’ in de ya’d one night. Jes’ arunnin’ an’ aplayin’ lak chillum will. All a sudden mmammy cum to de do’ all a’sited. “Cum in heah dis minnit,” she say. “Jes look up at what is ahappenin,” and bless yo’ life, honey, da sta’s wah fallin’ jes’ lak rain. Mammy wah tebble skeered, but we chillen wa’nt afeard, no, we wa’nt afeard. But mammy she say evah time a sta’ fall, somebuddy gonna die. Look lak lotta folks gonna die f’om de looks ob dem sta’s. don’ shine as bright as dey did back den. I wondah wy dey don’. Dey jes’ don’ shine as bright. Wa’nt long afoah dey took mah mammy away, and I wah lef’ alone.
On de plantation wah an ole women whut de boss bought f’om a drovah up in Virginny. De boss he bought huh f’om one ob de specalaters. She laff an’ tell us: “Some ob dese days yo’ all gwine be free, jes’ lak de white folks,” but we all laff at huh. No, we jes’ slaves, we allus hafta wok and nevah be free. Den when freedom cum, she say: “I tole yo’all, now yo’ got no nothing’, got no home; whut yo’ gwine do?”
Slave #5 ( Tempie Cummins, Age Unknown)
The white chillum tries teach me to read and write but I didn’ larn much, ‘cause I allus workin’. Mother was workin in the house, and she cooked too. She say she used to hide in the chimney corner and listen to what the white folks say. When freedom was’clared, marster wouldn’ tell ‘em, but mother she hear him tellin’ mistus that the slaves was free but they didn’ know it and he’s not gwineter tell ‘em till he makes another crop or two. When mother hear that she say she slip out the chimney corner and crack her heels together four times and shouts, “I’s free, I’s free.’ Then she runs to the field, ‘gainst marster’s will and tol’ all the other slaves and they quit work. Then she run away and in the night she slip into a big ravine near the house and have them bring me to her. Marster, he come out with his gun and shot at mother but she run down the ravine and gits away with me.
Frederick Douglass
If there is no struggle there is no progress. Those who profess to favor freedom and yet deprecate agitation are men who want crops without plowing up the ground’ they want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.
Slave #6 (Walter Rimm, 80 )
My pappy wasn’t ‘fraid of nothin’. He am light cullud from de white blood, and he runs away sev’ral times. Dere am big woods all round and we sees lots of run-awayers. One old fellow name John been a run-awayer for four years and de patterrollers tries all dey tricks, but dey can’t cotch him. Dey wants him bad, ‘cause it’spire other slaves to run away if he stays a-loose. Dey sots de trap for him. Dey knows he like good eats, sodey’ranges for a quiltin’ and gives chitlin’s and lye hominy. John comes and am inside when de patterrollers rides up to de door. Everybody gits quiet and John stands near de door, and when dey starts to come in he grabs de shovel full of hot ashes and throws dem into de patterrollers faces. He gits through and runs off, hollerin’, ‘Bird in de air!’
One woman name Rhodie runs off for long spell. De hounds won’t hunt her. She steals hot light bread… when dey puts it in de window to cool and lives on dat. She told my mammy how to keep de hounds from followin’ you is to take black pepper and put it in you socks and run without you shoes. It make de hounds sneeze. One day I’s in de woods and meets de nagger runawayer. He comes to de cabin and mammy makes him a bacon and egg sandwich and we never seed him again. Maybe he done got clear to Mexico, where a lot of de slaves runs to.
Frederick Douglass into the distance to reflect he hears, Swing Low, Sweet Chariot in his head.
Poet #1
The Great Poet (Dark Symphony )
The centuries-old pathos in our voices
Saddens the great white world
And the wizardry of our dusky rhythms
Conjures up shadow-shapes of ante-bellum years:
Black slaves singing (cast) One More River to Cross
In the torture tombs of slave-ship,
Black slaves singing Steal Away to Jesus
In jungle swamps
Black slaves singing The Crucifixion
In slave-pens at midnight,
Black slaves singing Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
In cabins of death,
Black slaves singing Go Down, Moses
In the canebrakes of the Southern Pharaohs.
Frederick Douglass
We all know what the negro has been as a slave. Now if
we are ever to get free from the oppressions and wrongs heaped upon us, we must
pay for their removal. We must do this by labor, by suffering, by
sacrifice, and if needs be, by our lives and the lives of others.
Slave #7 James Cape (cont)
After I gits in de army, it wasn’ so much fun, ‘cause tendin’ hosses and ridin’ wasn’ all I does. You’s heard of de battle of Independence” Dat’s whar we fights for three days and nights. I’s not tendin’ hosses dat time. Dey gives me a rifle and sends me up front fightin’, when we wasn’ runnin’. ‘Nother time we fights two days and nights and de Yankees was bad dat time, too, and we had to run through de river. I sho’ thought I’s gwine git drowned den!
Frederick Douglass
“Though slaves, they were rebellious slaves.” They bore themselves well. They did not hug their chains, but according to their opportunities, swelled the general protest against oppression… and the future of the colored race – the human race? Well as we march forward, our future will reflect our past.
Music: African Waltz, Cannonball Adderley. Slaves and Frederick dance.
Frederick Douglass
I am not a propagandist, but a prophet. I do not say that what I say should come to pass, but what I think is likely to come to pass, and what is inevitable. Races and varieties of the human family appear and disappear, but humanity remains and will remain forever. The American people will one day be truer to this idea than now.
Poet #2
Fires in the Mirror (Anna Deavere Smith)
I mean I grew up on a black –
A one-block street –
That was black.
My grandmother lived on that street
My cousins lived around the corner.
I went to this
Black-Black-
Private Black grade school
Where
I was extraordinary.
Everybody there was extraordinary.
You were told you were extraordinary.
It was very clear
that I could not go to see 101 Dalmations at the Capital
Theatre
Because it was segregated.
And at the same time
I was treated like I was the most extraordinary creature
That had
Been born.
So I’m on my street in my house,
At my school-
And I was very spoiled too –
So I was treated like I was this special special creature.
And then I would go beyoun a certain point
I was treated like I was insignificant.
Nobody was
Hosing me down or calling me nigger.
It was just that I was insignificant.
(slight pause)
You know what I mean so it was very clear of
(teacup on saucer strike twice on “very clear”)
where my extraordinariness lived.
You know what I mean.
That I was extraordinary as long as I was Black.
But I an-not-going-to place myself
(pause)
In relationship to your whiteness.
I will talk about your whiteness if we want to talk about that.
But I,
But what,
That which,
What I-
What am I saying?
My blackness does not resis-ex-re-
Exist in relationship to your whiteness.
(Pause)
You know
(Not really a question, more like a hum)
(Slight pause)
It does not exist in relationship to-
It exists
It exists.
I come-
You know what I mean-
Like I said, I, I, I,
I come from-
It’s a very complex,
Confused,
Neu-rotic,
At times destructive
Reality, but it is completely
And totally a reality
Contained and, and,
And full unto itself.
It’s complex.
It’s demonic.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s absurd.
It’s evolved.
It’s all the stuff.
That’s the way I grew up.
(Slight pause)
So that therefore-
And then you’re White-
(Quick beat)
And then there’s a point when,
And then these two things come into contact.
Frederick Douglass
They stood at opposite extremes of ethnological classification: all black on the one side, all white on the other. Now, between these two extremes, an intermediate race has arisen, which is neither white nor black, neither Caucasian nor Ethiopian, and this intermediate race is constantly increasing.
Poet #3 (William)Class Action
My names is Dennis Gandleman. Around this school I am the object of ridicule from most of the students, simply because I have an extremely high I.Q. It’s 176. My father wanted me to enroll in a special school that deals with geniuses like myself, but Mother was firmly against that. She wanted me to have a normal education, and not be treated as some kind of freak…Which is ironic, because that’s exactly what is happening to me here. The whole concept of education is a paradox: High School is supposed to celebrate education and knowledge, but what if really celebrates is social groups and popularity. In a perfect world, a did like me would be worshipped because of my scholastic abilities, instead of someone who can throw a forty-yard touchdown pass. I supposed I could complain, and bemoan the unfairness of it all. But I am bright. I know something that the others don’t…the rules change. What matters is power. Financial power. Power that comes from making a fortune on cutting-edge computer software. Software that I am already developing. (Pause.) Some call me a nerd. I call myself…ahead of my time. See you on the outside.
Frederick Douglass
And lastly, let know man forget the name of William Wilberforce. It was Wilberforce’s faith, persistence, and enduring enthusiasm that finally thawed the British heart into sympathy for the slave, and moved the strong arm of government in mercy to put an end to this bondage. Let no American, especially no colored American, withhold generous recognition of this stupendous achievement – a triumph of right over wrong, or good over evil, and a victory for the whole human race. It is truly grace.
(Lights rise on all the slaves, the Matriarchal Ancestor, and the Angelic Matriarch of now. The Angelic Matriarch is down stage left. She sings Wilberforce’s “Amazing Grace”. All characters on stage are looking at her. When she’s finished, a soulful, liberation spiritual hum starts to rise from all characters in unison. The Matriarchal Ancestor reaches her hand out to the nearest slave. Like a domino effect, each character clasps hands with another character on stage, one after another. The Angelic Matriarch should be the last hand clasped.
END OF THE NARRATIVES
Slave #7 James Cape (cont)
After I gits in de army, it wasn’ so much fun, ‘cause tendin’ hosses and ridin’ wasn’ all I does. You’s heard of de battle of Independence” Dat’s whar we fights for three days and nights. I’s not tendin’ hosses dat time. Dey gives me a rifle and sends me up front fightin’, when we wasn’ runnin’. ‘Nother time we fights two days and nights and de Yankees was bad dat time, too, and we had to run through de river. I sho’ thought I’s gwine git drowned den!
Frederick Douglass
“Though slaves, they were rebellious slaves.” They bore themselves well. They did not hug their chains, but according to their opportunities, swelled the general protest against oppression… and the future of the colored race – the human race? Well as we march forward, our future will reflect our past.
Music: African Waltz, Cannonball Adderley. Slaves and Frederick dance.
Frederick Douglass
I am not a propagandist, but a prophet. I do not say that what I say should come to pass, but what I think is likely to come to pass, and what is inevitable. Races and varieties of the human family appear and disappear, but humanity remains and will remain forever. The American people will one day be truer to this idea than now.
Poet #2
Fires in the Mirror (Anna Deavere Smith)
I mean I grew up on a black –
A one-block street –
That was black.
My grandmother lived on that street
My cousins lived around the corner.
I went to this
Black-Black-
Private Black grade school
Where
I was extraordinary.
Everybody there was extraordinary.
You were told you were extraordinary.
It was very clear
that I could not go to see 101 Dalmations at the Capital
Theatre
Because it was segregated.
And at the same time
I was treated like I was the most extraordinary creature
That had
Been born.
So I’m on my street in my house,
At my school-
And I was very spoiled too –
So I was treated like I was this special special creature.
And then I would go beyoun a certain point
I was treated like I was insignificant.
Nobody was
Hosing me down or calling me nigger.
It was just that I was insignificant.
(slight pause)
You know what I mean so it was very clear of
(teacup on saucer strike twice on “very clear”)
where my extraordinariness lived.
You know what I mean.
That I was extraordinary as long as I was Black.
But I an-not-going-to place myself
(pause)
In relationship to your whiteness.
I will talk about your whiteness if we want to talk about that.
But I,
But what,
That which,
What I-
What am I saying?
My blackness does not resis-ex-re-
Exist in relationship to your whiteness.
(Pause)
You know
(Not really a question, more like a hum)
(Slight pause)
It does not exist in relationship to-
It exists
It exists.
I come-
You know what I mean-
Like I said, I, I, I,
I come from-
It’s a very complex,
Confused,
Neu-rotic,
At times destructive
Reality, but it is completely
And totally a reality
Contained and, and,
And full unto itself.
It’s complex.
It’s demonic.
It’s ridiculous.
It’s absurd.
It’s evolved.
It’s all the stuff.
That’s the way I grew up.
(Slight pause)
So that therefore-
And then you’re White-
(Quick beat)
And then there’s a point when,
And then these two things come into contact.
Frederick Douglass
They stood at opposite extremes of ethnological classification: all black on the one side, all white on the other. Now, between these two extremes, an intermediate race has arisen, which is neither white nor black, neither Caucasian nor Ethiopian, and this intermediate race is constantly increasing.
Poet #3 (William)Class Action
My names is Dennis Gandleman. Around this school I am the object of ridicule from most of the students, simply because I have an extremely high I.Q. It’s 176. My father wanted me to enroll in a special school that deals with geniuses like myself, but Mother was firmly against that. She wanted me to have a normal education, and not be treated as some kind of freak…Which is ironic, because that’s exactly what is happening to me here. The whole concept of education is a paradox: High School is supposed to celebrate education and knowledge, but what if really celebrates is social groups and popularity. In a perfect world, a did like me would be worshipped because of my scholastic abilities, instead of someone who can throw a forty-yard touchdown pass. I supposed I could complain, and bemoan the unfairness of it all. But I am bright. I know something that the others don’t…the rules change. What matters is power. Financial power. Power that comes from making a fortune on cutting-edge computer software. Software that I am already developing. (Pause.) Some call me a nerd. I call myself…ahead of my time. See you on the outside.
Frederick Douglass
And lastly, let know man forget the name of William Wilberforce. It was Wilberforce’s faith, persistence, and enduring enthusiasm that finally thawed the British heart into sympathy for the slave, and moved the strong arm of government in mercy to put an end to this bondage. Let no American, especially no colored American, withhold generous recognition of this stupendous achievement – a triumph of right over wrong, or good over evil, and a victory for the whole human race. It is truly grace.
(Lights rise on all the slaves, the Matriarchal Ancestor, and the Angelic Matriarch of now. The Angelic Matriarch is down stage left. She sings Wilberforce’s “Amazing Grace”. All characters on stage are looking at her. When she’s finished, a soulful, liberation spiritual hum starts to rise from all characters in unison. The Matriarchal Ancestor reaches her hand out to the nearest slave. Like a domino effect, each character clasps hands with another character on stage, one after another. The Angelic Matriarch should be the last hand clasped.
END OF THE NARRATIVES