George Schuyler - Black No More

Long articles appeared in the Sunday newspapers extolling the simple virtues of the two great men. Both, it seemed, had come from poor but honest families; both were hailed as tried and true friends of the great, common people; both were declared to be ready to give their strength and intellect to America for the next four years. One writer suggested that Givens resembled Lincoln, while another declared that President Goosie’s character was not unlike that of Roosevelt, believing he was paying the former a compliment.

Rev. Givens told the reporters: “It is my intention, if elected, to carry out the traditional tariff policy of the Democratic Party” (neither he or anyone else knew what that was).

President Goosie averred again and again, “I intend to make my second term as honest and efficient as my first.” Though a dire threat, this statement was supposed to be a fine promise.

Meanwhile, Dr. Samuel Buggerie and his operatives were making great headway examining birth and marriage records throughout the United States. Around the middle of September the Board of Directors held a conference at which the learned man presented a partial report.

“I am now prepared to prove,” gloated the obese statistician, “that fully one-quarter of the people of one Virginia county possess non-white ancestry, Indian or Negro; and we can further prove that all of the Indians on the Atlantic Coast are part Negro. In several counties in widely separated parts of the country, we have found that the ancestry of a considerable percentage of the people is in doubt. There is reason to believe that there are countless numbers of people who ought not to be classed with whites and should not mix with Anglo-Saxons.”

It was decided that the statistician should get his data in simple form that anyone could read and understand, and have it ready to release just a few days before election. When the people saw how great was the danger from black blood, it was reasoned, they would flock to the Democratic standard and it would be too late for the Republicans to halt the stampede.

No political campaign in the history of the country had ever been so bitter. On one side were those who were fanatically positive of their pure Caucasian ancestry; on the other side were those who knew themselves to be “impure” white or had reason to suspect it. The former were principally Democratic, the latter Republican. There was another group which was Republican because it felt that a victory for the Democrats might cause another Civil War. The campaign roused acrimonious dispute even within families. Often behind these family rifts lurked the knowledge or suspicion of a dark past.

As the campaign grew more bitter, denunciations of Dr. Crookman and his activities grew more violent. A move was started to close all of his hospitals. Some wanted them to be closed for all time; others advised their closing for the duration of the campaign. The majority of thinking people (which wasn’t so many) strenuously objected to the proposal.

“No good purpose will be served by closing these hospitals,” declared the New York Morning Earth. “On the contrary such a step might have tragic results. The Negroes have disappeared into the body of our citizenry, large numbers have intermarried with the whites and the offspring of these marriages are appearing in increasing numbers. Without these hospitals, think how many couples would be estranged; how many homes wrecked! Instead of taking precipitate action, we should be patient and move slowly.”

Other Northern newspapers assumed an even more friendly attitude, but the press generally followed the crowd, or led it, and in slightly veiled language urged the opponents of Black-No-More to take the law into their hands.

Finally, emboldened and inflamed by fiery editorials, radio addresses, pamphlets, posters and platform speeches, a mob seeking to protect white womanhood in Cincinnati attacked a Crookman hospital, drove several women into the streets and set fire to the building. A dozen babies were burned to death and others, hastily removed by their mothers, were recognized as mulattoes. The newspapers published names and addresses. Many of the women were very prominent socially either in their own right or because of their husbands.

The nation was shocked as never before. Republican sentiment began to dwindle. The Republican Executive Committee met and discussed ways and means of combating the trend. Gorman Gay was at his wits’ end. Nothing, he thought, could save them except a miracle.

Two flights below in a spacious office sat two of the Republican campaigners, Walter Williams and Joseph Bonds, busily engaged in leading the other workers (who knew better) to believe that they were earning the ten dollars a day they were receiving. The former had passed for a Negro for years on the strength of a part-Negro grandparent and then gone back to the white race when the National Social Equality League was forced to cease operations at the insistence of both the sheriff and the landlord. Joseph Bonds, former head of the Negro Data League who had once been a Negro but thanks to Dr. Crookman was now Caucasian and proud of it, had but recently returned to the North from Atlanta, accompanied by Santop Licorice. Both Mr. Williams and Mr. Bonds had been unable to stomach the Democratic crowd and so had fallen in with the Republicans, who were as different from them as one billiard ball from another. The two gentlemen were in low tones discussing the dilemma of the Republicans, while rustling papers to appear busy.

“Jo, if we could figure out something to turn the tables on these Democrats, we wouldn’t have to work for the rest of our lives,” Williams observed, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke out of the other corner of his mouth.

“Yes, that’s right, Walt, but there ain’t a chance in the world. Old Gay is almost crazy, you know. Came in here slamming doors and snapping at everybody this morning,” Bonds remarked.

Williams leaned closer to him, lowered his flame-thatched head and then looking to the right and left whispered, “Listen here, do you know where Beard is?”

“No,” answered Bonds, starting and looking around to see if anyone was listening. “Where is he?”

“Well, I got a letter from him the other day. He’s down there in Richmond doing research work for the Anglo-Saxon Association under that Dr. Buggerie.”

“Do they know who he is?”

“Of course they don’t. He’s been white quite a while now, you know, and of course they’d never connect him with the Dr. Shakespeare A. Beard who used to be one of their most outspoken enemies.”

“Well, what about it?” persisted Bonds, eagerly. “Do you think he might know something on the Democrats that might help?”

“He might. We could try him out anyway. If he knows anything he’ll spill it because he hates that crowd.”

“How will you get in touch with him quickly? Write to him?”

“Certainly not,” growled Williams. “I’ll get expenses from Gay for the trip. He’ll fall for anything now.”

He rose and made for the elevator. Five minutes later he was standing before his boss, the National Chairman, a worried, gray little man with an aldermaniac paunch and a convict’s mouth.

“What is it, Williams?” snapped the Chairman.

“I’d like to get expenses to Richmond,” said Williams. “I have a friend down there in Snobbcraft’s office and he might have some dope we can use to our advantage.”

“Scandal?” asked Mr. Gay, brightening.

“Well, I don’t know right now, of course, but this fellow is a very shrewd observer and in six months’ time he ought to have grabbed something that’ll help us out of this jam.”

“Is he a Republican or a Democrat?”