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Uncle Teddy was thirty-eight years old and had never been married, but soon he would take a wife. In his last year of bachelorhood, he spent as much time as possible traveling around the country -- painting, trying to drum up new commissions, visiting family and friends, and attending conferences. In June of 1920, still president of the Charleston branch of the NAACP, he was in Atlanta for the organization's regional conference, where he witnessed a historic event: his mentor DuBois received the organization's highest honor that year.
Atlanta, June 2, '20
My Sweetie,
I did come to Atlanta though at the time of the receipt of your card I was by no means sure if I could make it. Many of our folks urged that I come to the conference. It is a fine gathering quite worthy of the cause, and I have been very much inspired by hearing the finer things said here in the heart of the Cracker country.
Have met many old friends and acquaintances of other days, among them the darling Chrystal Bird.
There has been time to do nothing but attend the three sessions a day closing at midnight, but I may remain over a few days.
I have been anxious to have a word from you but as I expect so soon to return I shall have a hatful of anticipation until I get home. Shall write you again before I get back.
Dr. DuBois was awarded the Spingarn Medal yesterday at a most beautiful ceremony on the campus of Atlanta Univ.
Oh say! Have wished that this could have been my honeymoon trip but it has been impossible. However it will not be afar – if you say so.
With love and best wishes with a kiss and another and another ad infinitum ...
Affectionately,
Teddy
Elise's response to Teddy's June 2 letter is missing, along with any others she might have written while he was away from home. In this one, whose envelope bore the date June 29, 1920, she gently scolds him for his lack of communication and gives him instructions on how to prepare for their new life together.
Dearest and bestest,
Having waited what seems months to hear from you, I feel it my Christian duty to remind you that I love you just the same and that I would be very happy to have a "few lines hoping I'm well" and saying you love me still.
Long dreary days of silence make me wonder just what kind of love you have for me. I'm beginning to think it is "tainted," that it is not "all wool, yard wide, dyed in the yarn" kind. Will you say aught to the contrary?
Of course I've heard you have been travelling around the country and I know they don't sell stamps nor issue telegrams in those little by-ways where the trains carried you, so I forgive you for not writing me the past months altho you did say you'd write me before you left Atlanta. So in order to get into my good graces again, you'll have to go back to Atlanta and write -- see?
Or else -- sit right down now this very minute and write me.
I suppose you've been selecting the dumb witnesses of our future happiness and if you have made me a white kitchen, a dark cool looking dining & living room and a delightful bedroom somewhat on the order of [your sister] Eloise (don't forget the vanity table), why I'm ready to come to or rather with you whenever you say -- but please say -- write -- write if you only say you're thinking of doing something.
Don't forget the pots and pans and groceries and tea wagon and can opener and ice pick and vacuum cleaner and electric coffee percolater. Have the telephone extension made to top floor and the little table beside the bed for the telephone and electric floor lamp. ...
Although she had been away from home for months and was eager to settle down, Tantie received a letter from Teddy hinting of his desire for her to continue her studies at Tuskegee Institute under Cornelius M. Battey, "the dean of black photographers." Battey's most famous student was the legendary P.H. Polk.
121
June 30, 1920
Sweetheart,
Your gentle letter was awaiting my arrival from the “provinces” and your card no. 1 with its reminder. Then came your other card – no. 2 with its little Threat and a’ that. ...
Why didn’t you ask me something of my trip? You surely are interested in my wanderings. Let me tell you of one incident: I went to Tuskegee. I wanted to see a few people and a few things there – Halsey, my classmate, who runs things in a measure; his wife, one of our crew at A.U. and another gentleman whom I hope you will soon know, Mr. Battey, the real photographer – the artist par excellence in his line, head of the budding school of photography there.
I want you to get some of his amazing skill, and have already written him about you. I think he may be in your city soon and if he does you can talk shop with him.
Perhaps next summer, if you care to do so, you can work with him at Tuskegee in their wonderful new building, a part of which is designed especially for his work. He is not very enthusiastic over your school, but one could hardly expect one of his calibre to be so – he is one of the “cracks” of the world.
Perhaps you will tolerate my mentioning this at length because it may have a definite bearing upon our “business.”
You see, it’s a bad thing to be poor [when planning a wedding], for this is a time when the erstwhile “comfortable” and even the “well-to-do” people must be considered as poor, and we are surely in that category.
Now, suppose you come home. Could we very well do without a “church and reception” wedding? Would you be prepared to fashion a sure-enough trousseau? I went to the Ransier-Gaillard reception downstairs and it was merely a pleasant dance given by Tom. The Dawson LeRoach affair was shoddy.
Or would you prefer to have me come for you in New York, take a trip eastward and then return to the Sunny South?
I confess I have forever dreaded the idea of the ordeal of a public wedding with its stiffness and pomp relieved by the coarse jests of certain “friends” who would be funny; but on the other hand I have so admired a bride that never have I dared to hope to be worthy of anything so ethereal and have always wondered that the average bridegroom should dare to presume to call something so beautiful and holy “his own.” But nothing is to be denied a bride, Lise, and I will do as you want me to do with you, for you and, so far as I am able, by you. ...
It would be a source of great relief to me to be able to get the valued assisting suggestions or even direction from Marie and Eloise, but the [former] is still sick abed and the latter has gone to Hampton to summer school. But we shall do the best we can by all means. ...
I can’t go back to Atlanta to write you, for I have bid goodbye to all my folks there as a bach and had benedictions said for my bride. You see, I’ve never had one before and I don’t know how to act, so I will henceforth be very docile and take lessons from you, knowing me. First of all, I presume, is the matter of writing and as there is much to be said I’ll write often. ...
Everybody has chided me for not writing often and I have not changed much. That’s one of the reasons why I have repeatedly offered myself to you as I am. You already know me, and I am inclined to be honest, so when I have repeatedly protested my love and offered it – all of it -- I have meant it and still mean it. It may be a poor sort of love not to make a lot of fuss and frills but it is genuine and it will not change, except to grow. ...
Goodbye for today with all my love.
Forever yours,
Teddy
Showing posts with label NAACP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NAACP. Show all posts
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
June 1919
For much of the summer of 1919, Uncle Teddy was away from home. He had gone to Atlanta to paint a portrait, traveled to Florida to visit his sister, and went to Cleveland for the NAACP's 10th annual conference.
Tantie, as would become their pattern, remained in Charleston. Her letters were filled with news from home. In this one, she write about programs she attended at they school they both had attended, Avery Institute, and their church, Plymouth Congregational.
She wanted to get married in September, before going to photography school in New York, but it would be another year before they would wed.
Chas’n, S.C.
June 16, [19]19
My dear Edwin,
I shall not close my eyes this night until I at least write that I have received both letter and card and altho I have not hastened to let you know, I have wanted to long before this. (I am really not trying to write poetry.)
I have just come in from a very nice program at Avery under the auspices of the City Federation. There were some good numbers on the program among them Mrs. A.E. Baker who recited Enoch Arden, Miss Maud Smith, piano selection and of course the selection of the Aurorean [Orchestra].
Not a large number attended Monday evening and lots of other affairs. There were two affairs for Plymouth last week. I attended one. Went to a ballgame one afternoon. Had some work at home and generally kept busy, quite busy.
Two days of last week were spent in an attempt to make a trip to Snake Island. On last Tuesday a party of thirty started out and got nearly there when the engine balked. We floundered and drifted for several hours when a boat came along going to town and towed us home. We landed at Chisolm’s Mill and spent the rest of the afternoon playing games and eating ice cream.
We are going again however. ...
The moon is gorgeous! Sunday night I sat on my back porch and just wished.
There is a mosquito in my net and I shall kill him as soon as ever I am through this letter. O yes, I’m writing in bed, only way I could, the mosquitoes are so bad.
Say Ted, may I get ready for “a trip to the moon” in September? Say the latter part, eh?
Or don’t you want to send me to that school of Photography any more yet again? Or would you rather buy me [an] auto? haha. While I think of it why not bring me one from -- (where does Mr. Ford live?). ...
Rev. Burroughs was buried last Friday. Was dead a week, paralysis.
Paul Winds says I must tell you he beat my ring -- he & Euphrasia Lewis were married very quietly last Wednesday evening -- no cards.
Ethel C. Has gone to Columbia [location of the state mental hospital] -- no she isn’t insane -- went to rest up before assuming the burdens of matrimony -- help!!!
I’m going after that mosquito. All join in love to you.
Your very own
Liza
As president, Teddy Harleston represented the Charleston branch of the NAACP at the organization's tenth annual conference. This letter, in which he told Tantie about the event, was written on the letterhead of The Negro Welfare Association of Cleveland, Ohio, an affiliate of the "National League on Urban Conditions Among Negroes."
The addresses he mentioned at the end of his letter are those of the Forrest family (97 Morris Street), where Tantie still lived, and the Harleston Funeral Home (121 Calhoun Street).
June 23, [19]19
My dear Liz,
The Conference is under way and a fine gathering of men and women from every section of the country. ... Had a nice trip up from Atlanta where I made three pictures and had an engagement to go to Maine to paint the Pres. of Atlanta Univ. See that I go -- it will take a week or ten days longer to do it.
I like the idea of your going to the school of Photography -- if you be good, think I can arrange it.
Enjoyed your letter. Do you think we could manage things this fall? They want me back in Atlanta in Oct. to do a nice job or two -- one good one. How about November? It seems that we can fix up by then and have both ventures done with, provided we can find somewhere to live.
It has been very inspiring and reassuring to be here at this conference. Last night in half an hour $10,300.00 was subscribed to the Assn. for the coming year and tonight it was increased to more than $12,000.00 above regular dues. I have reason to be proud of the Charleston Branch in comparison with other cities and the officers here appreciate what we have done. We go to Oberlin tomorrow for a session (by trolley). I am to speak at the Thursday aft. session, and hope to crowd some helpful words into the twelve minutes. There are over three hundred delegates registered.
I have very often had your image in my mind's eye since leaving. You are a sort of steady company with me. I judge folks by you. I compare you with them. Perhaps I am too severe a judge sometimes, but do not forget that I can be only a just judge in such moments; so do, my lady, let me have the abiding happiness to declare in your favor by deserving it, for if you love me, (and do you not?) you will make and keep yourself perfect for me, as I keep myself clean and wholly for you.
With every wish for your happiness, and love to all the folks at 97 and 121.
Lovingly
Teddy
Shall probably leave here Sat. for Detroit. Miss Eva Bowles spoke here tonight.
Tantie, as would become their pattern, remained in Charleston. Her letters were filled with news from home. In this one, she write about programs she attended at they school they both had attended, Avery Institute, and their church, Plymouth Congregational.
She wanted to get married in September, before going to photography school in New York, but it would be another year before they would wed.
Chas’n, S.C.
June 16, [19]19
My dear Edwin,
I shall not close my eyes this night until I at least write that I have received both letter and card and altho I have not hastened to let you know, I have wanted to long before this. (I am really not trying to write poetry.)
I have just come in from a very nice program at Avery under the auspices of the City Federation. There were some good numbers on the program among them Mrs. A.E. Baker who recited Enoch Arden, Miss Maud Smith, piano selection and of course the selection of the Aurorean [Orchestra].
Not a large number attended Monday evening and lots of other affairs. There were two affairs for Plymouth last week. I attended one. Went to a ballgame one afternoon. Had some work at home and generally kept busy, quite busy.
Two days of last week were spent in an attempt to make a trip to Snake Island. On last Tuesday a party of thirty started out and got nearly there when the engine balked. We floundered and drifted for several hours when a boat came along going to town and towed us home. We landed at Chisolm’s Mill and spent the rest of the afternoon playing games and eating ice cream.
We are going again however. ...
The moon is gorgeous! Sunday night I sat on my back porch and just wished.
There is a mosquito in my net and I shall kill him as soon as ever I am through this letter. O yes, I’m writing in bed, only way I could, the mosquitoes are so bad.
Say Ted, may I get ready for “a trip to the moon” in September? Say the latter part, eh?
Or don’t you want to send me to that school of Photography any more yet again? Or would you rather buy me [an] auto? haha. While I think of it why not bring me one from -- (where does Mr. Ford live?). ...
Rev. Burroughs was buried last Friday. Was dead a week, paralysis.
Paul Winds says I must tell you he beat my ring -- he & Euphrasia Lewis were married very quietly last Wednesday evening -- no cards.
Ethel C. Has gone to Columbia [location of the state mental hospital] -- no she isn’t insane -- went to rest up before assuming the burdens of matrimony -- help!!!
I’m going after that mosquito. All join in love to you.
Your very own
Liza
As president, Teddy Harleston represented the Charleston branch of the NAACP at the organization's tenth annual conference. This letter, in which he told Tantie about the event, was written on the letterhead of The Negro Welfare Association of Cleveland, Ohio, an affiliate of the "National League on Urban Conditions Among Negroes."
The addresses he mentioned at the end of his letter are those of the Forrest family (97 Morris Street), where Tantie still lived, and the Harleston Funeral Home (121 Calhoun Street).
June 23, [19]19
My dear Liz,
The Conference is under way and a fine gathering of men and women from every section of the country. ... Had a nice trip up from Atlanta where I made three pictures and had an engagement to go to Maine to paint the Pres. of Atlanta Univ. See that I go -- it will take a week or ten days longer to do it.
I like the idea of your going to the school of Photography -- if you be good, think I can arrange it.
Enjoyed your letter. Do you think we could manage things this fall? They want me back in Atlanta in Oct. to do a nice job or two -- one good one. How about November? It seems that we can fix up by then and have both ventures done with, provided we can find somewhere to live.
It has been very inspiring and reassuring to be here at this conference. Last night in half an hour $10,300.00 was subscribed to the Assn. for the coming year and tonight it was increased to more than $12,000.00 above regular dues. I have reason to be proud of the Charleston Branch in comparison with other cities and the officers here appreciate what we have done. We go to Oberlin tomorrow for a session (by trolley). I am to speak at the Thursday aft. session, and hope to crowd some helpful words into the twelve minutes. There are over three hundred delegates registered.
I have very often had your image in my mind's eye since leaving. You are a sort of steady company with me. I judge folks by you. I compare you with them. Perhaps I am too severe a judge sometimes, but do not forget that I can be only a just judge in such moments; so do, my lady, let me have the abiding happiness to declare in your favor by deserving it, for if you love me, (and do you not?) you will make and keep yourself perfect for me, as I keep myself clean and wholly for you.
With every wish for your happiness, and love to all the folks at 97 and 121.
Lovingly
Teddy
Shall probably leave here Sat. for Detroit. Miss Eva Bowles spoke here tonight.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
1917
Tantie followed Uncle Teddy to New York, where he had gone to study mortuary science, and she often visited him in the city on weekends. She had found a job at the Howard Colored Orphan Asylum, which had been established in 1866.
According to the website Commack History, "For the Howard Orphanage ... things were not going well by 1917. ... Due to war rations when the winter came there was no more coal to heat the buildings with and the children were sent into the surrounding woodland to cut cordwood for heating the houses. Then some of the hot water heaters broke down. Now forced to sleep around the stoves for warmth some children were told to place their cold hands or feet as close to the stove as possible, but it was too late frost bite was setting in on some and they were taken to hospitals where a few had to have limbs amputated."
Kings Park, L.I.
Jan. 11, 1917
My Dear Edwin,
I am glad you have made your decision and are complying with our father’s wishes. That means of course that you will soon be homeward bound. I wish you God speed.
I sincerely hope your brother [Moultrie] will be spared to reach home once more and that all at home will be there to welcome him. I am sorry to think I will not even but a witness, yet I shall rejoice with you now in the prospect of having him home after so long an absence. Perhaps you may persuade him to stay and help you and Rob with the business.
I am enclosing a letter from home which I am sure you will enjoy. You may keep it until I see you which may be sooner than either of us know. The first part concerns – not you – skip it.
I also received my box. I really did wish for you to enjoy it with me – devilled crabs – chicken – cake (I’m saving you a piece) candy – nuts. Wasnt’ that lovely? Some "Mudder" eh?
I am a little nervous tonight. Started laughing at supper and – well I wasn’t thinking of you just then so you can’t say I had hysterics over you for I did not. I was unduly nervous and felt like crying and so there. But I’m going to bed soon and sleep it off. ...
Perhaps I shall be able to come in the last of Jan. But surely Sat. Feb. 3rd & Sun. Feb. 4th 1917 – if not sooner.
Hope to hear from you before that time. You can imagine what your letters mean to me out here.
Lovingly your own
L.L.
Kings Park, L.I.
Jan. 28, 1917
My Dear Edwin,
Yours received a few days ago. Am sorry & then glad I did not come Friday as I thought but glad when I do come I can stay. I expect to come in next Thurs., if I do I will drop you a card Thurs. A.M.
Am very tired tonight. Have been on the job since 6.30 A.M. It is now 7 P.M. I shall welcome my pillow.
I am very glad of your success. Now home & work. I almost envy you. But I hope I’ll be home with you next Christmas.
Don’t worry about me. I have always "looked out" for myself since I can remember and others quite sometime. [Two lines blacked out.]
Please excuse this; it doesn’t happen often but I’m too weary to start another sheet. That was one of my extravagant thoughts and I just remembered how distasteful they are to you.
Just a few more days and you shall see & love
Your own
L.L.
Monday, Feb. 26, [19]17
My dear "Mr. Harleston",
Did you expect me to answer that note? I have been expecting a letter from you, and even as I write I am listening for the Post man’s whistle.
I hardly know anything that is happening in town, but what you may read of, and what concerns me, is not of such importance to you that I need mention it here.
It seems you had only to get home again to display a bit of meanness in your very first letter. Will you do me the very great kindness to explain why this is? Why do you become so very irritated and annoyed whenever my name is mentioned to you? Any other friend (?) of mine would have been glad to say they had seen me and it is no more than natural. And it has always been a puzzle to me how you can have this feeling, and yet are so very different when with me.
Now then Sir, take this vital question up in your next letter, and explain away all my doubt. Please Ted, write me as soon as you can, a nice long letter; I am anxious to have some word from you.
You did not say a word about the baby.
Lovingly,
Lise
Through his association with W.E.B. DuBois, who had been his professor at Atlanta University, Uncle Teddy became the founding president of the Charleston branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. One of the group's first accomplishments was petitioning the state legislature to change the law forbidding black teachers from working in Charleston's public schools.
[Handwritten in the left margin] This is my second letter on the machine. The first was to Mamma.
New York. N.Y.
March 1, [19]17
My dearest Edwin,
Your letter received this morning, found me home, with a very bad neck. I have two boils in my head which have given me some trouble, had to have them lanced. The pressure caused several lumps to form on my neck, which are very painful. I did not go to work two days this week, as the day after the doctor lanced the boils I have had the fever. You know what this means to my pocket, and to my spirits also.
I enjoyed your letter so very, very much; and am sorry you are not able to say the same this morning, when you get my letter. But you will understand, Ted, and forgive me, and write me real soon, won’t you?
... My work has not been as successful as I had hoped and it is only my desire to fulfill my promise to you that keeps me here and to other things too.
But don’t let this bother you. I am sure I shall be alright in a few days.
Have you been to see my mother yet? And what do you think of the baby? I can just see the studio.
Have a little patience, dear, and all will come right soon. ...
Tell Ethel to write me, also my sister. That is very fine about the [NAACP]. You will make a very fine President.
Love to all, and write me soon.
Your own
Lise
P.S. I had to cut my hair so am sending you a curl, if you do not want it give it to Marie. Phone Ethel as soon as you receive this. Have you been to church yet? In the choir?
Love
Lise
According to the website Commack History, "For the Howard Orphanage ... things were not going well by 1917. ... Due to war rations when the winter came there was no more coal to heat the buildings with and the children were sent into the surrounding woodland to cut cordwood for heating the houses. Then some of the hot water heaters broke down. Now forced to sleep around the stoves for warmth some children were told to place their cold hands or feet as close to the stove as possible, but it was too late frost bite was setting in on some and they were taken to hospitals where a few had to have limbs amputated."
Kings Park, L.I.
Jan. 11, 1917
My Dear Edwin,
I am glad you have made your decision and are complying with our father’s wishes. That means of course that you will soon be homeward bound. I wish you God speed.
I sincerely hope your brother [Moultrie] will be spared to reach home once more and that all at home will be there to welcome him. I am sorry to think I will not even but a witness, yet I shall rejoice with you now in the prospect of having him home after so long an absence. Perhaps you may persuade him to stay and help you and Rob with the business.
I am enclosing a letter from home which I am sure you will enjoy. You may keep it until I see you which may be sooner than either of us know. The first part concerns – not you – skip it.
I also received my box. I really did wish for you to enjoy it with me – devilled crabs – chicken – cake (I’m saving you a piece) candy – nuts. Wasnt’ that lovely? Some "Mudder" eh?
I am a little nervous tonight. Started laughing at supper and – well I wasn’t thinking of you just then so you can’t say I had hysterics over you for I did not. I was unduly nervous and felt like crying and so there. But I’m going to bed soon and sleep it off. ...
Perhaps I shall be able to come in the last of Jan. But surely Sat. Feb. 3rd & Sun. Feb. 4th 1917 – if not sooner.
Hope to hear from you before that time. You can imagine what your letters mean to me out here.
Lovingly your own
L.L.
Kings Park, L.I.
Jan. 28, 1917
My Dear Edwin,
Yours received a few days ago. Am sorry & then glad I did not come Friday as I thought but glad when I do come I can stay. I expect to come in next Thurs., if I do I will drop you a card Thurs. A.M.
Am very tired tonight. Have been on the job since 6.30 A.M. It is now 7 P.M. I shall welcome my pillow.
I am very glad of your success. Now home & work. I almost envy you. But I hope I’ll be home with you next Christmas.
Don’t worry about me. I have always "looked out" for myself since I can remember and others quite sometime. [Two lines blacked out.]
Please excuse this; it doesn’t happen often but I’m too weary to start another sheet. That was one of my extravagant thoughts and I just remembered how distasteful they are to you.
Just a few more days and you shall see & love
Your own
L.L.
Monday, Feb. 26, [19]17
My dear "Mr. Harleston",
Did you expect me to answer that note? I have been expecting a letter from you, and even as I write I am listening for the Post man’s whistle.
I hardly know anything that is happening in town, but what you may read of, and what concerns me, is not of such importance to you that I need mention it here.
It seems you had only to get home again to display a bit of meanness in your very first letter. Will you do me the very great kindness to explain why this is? Why do you become so very irritated and annoyed whenever my name is mentioned to you? Any other friend (?) of mine would have been glad to say they had seen me and it is no more than natural. And it has always been a puzzle to me how you can have this feeling, and yet are so very different when with me.
Now then Sir, take this vital question up in your next letter, and explain away all my doubt. Please Ted, write me as soon as you can, a nice long letter; I am anxious to have some word from you.
You did not say a word about the baby.
Lovingly,
Lise
Through his association with W.E.B. DuBois, who had been his professor at Atlanta University, Uncle Teddy became the founding president of the Charleston branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. One of the group's first accomplishments was petitioning the state legislature to change the law forbidding black teachers from working in Charleston's public schools.
[Handwritten in the left margin] This is my second letter on the machine. The first was to Mamma.
New York. N.Y.
March 1, [19]17
My dearest Edwin,
Your letter received this morning, found me home, with a very bad neck. I have two boils in my head which have given me some trouble, had to have them lanced. The pressure caused several lumps to form on my neck, which are very painful. I did not go to work two days this week, as the day after the doctor lanced the boils I have had the fever. You know what this means to my pocket, and to my spirits also.
I enjoyed your letter so very, very much; and am sorry you are not able to say the same this morning, when you get my letter. But you will understand, Ted, and forgive me, and write me real soon, won’t you?
... My work has not been as successful as I had hoped and it is only my desire to fulfill my promise to you that keeps me here and to other things too.
But don’t let this bother you. I am sure I shall be alright in a few days.
Have you been to see my mother yet? And what do you think of the baby? I can just see the studio.
Have a little patience, dear, and all will come right soon. ...
Tell Ethel to write me, also my sister. That is very fine about the [NAACP]. You will make a very fine President.
Love to all, and write me soon.
Your own
Lise
P.S. I had to cut my hair so am sending you a curl, if you do not want it give it to Marie. Phone Ethel as soon as you receive this. Have you been to church yet? In the choir?
Love
Lise
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