![]() If Beauford and Miss Anderson were a part of my inheritance, I was a part of their hope. ![]() They were not to hang me: I was to see to that. They had, the masters, incontestably, the rope-in time, with enough, they would hang themselves with it. Not only was I not born to be a slave: I was not born to hope to become the equal of the slave-master. I hitchhiked, in sub-zero weather, out of what I will always remember as one of the lowest and most obscene circles of Hell, into Manhattan: where both Beauford and Miss Anderson where on hand to inform me that I had no right to permit myself to be defined by so pitiful a people. This was a quite marvellous and passionate event in those years, triggered by the indignation of one woman who had, clearly, it seemed to me, married beneath her.īy this time, I was working for the Army-or the Yankee dollar!-in New Jersey. Eleanor Roosevelt was appalled by this species of patriotism and arranged for Marian Anderson to sing on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. ![]() Because of her color, Miss Anderson was not allowed to sing at The Met, nor, as far as The Daughters of The American Revolution were concerned, anywhere in Washington where white people might risk hearing her.
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