The Lost Choice (11 page)

“You educated me about service to others. You said, ‘The world cares very little about what a person knows. It's what a person
does
with what he knows that counts.' Sir, we are
doing.

“I have learned about power from you. In your address to our incoming students just last week, you said,‘There are two ways of exerting one's strength: one is pushing down— the other is pulling up.' I believe that we are pulling up.”

As the president sat back down in his chair, George Carver stood up. His voice grew stronger as he spoke. “From you, sir, I have learned about the control that a lack of self-image has upon our people. After publicly praising a young farmer one day, you said privately to me,‘No race can prosper until it learns that there is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem.' Sir, surely you recognize the vast fields we are tilling.”

Dr.Washington's lip began to quiver, but he held Carver's gaze as now Carver circled the desk and leaned close to his mentor's face. He continued. “Dr.Washington, you taught me about white people and love and the capacity of my own heart. Do you remember the day you and I called on the state assemblyman in Montgomery? Do you remember that, sir?”

“Yes,”Washington said as his eyes pooled and a tear ran down his cheek.

George clasped the president's forearm with his hands as he sank to one knee beside the chair.“The assemblyman was in charge of textbook appropriations for every college in the state. After he smiled and told you ‘no,' what did the man call you?” Dr.Washington was silent. His eyes slowly fell to his lap.“Sir,” George repeated.“What did the man call you?”

“A nigger.”

“A what?”

The president's head raised. With tears flowing freely, he looked George directly in the eye and said,“A nigger. The man called me a nigger.”

“That's right, Dr.Washington. Then you walked out of his office and before we exited the building, you said to me and I quote: ‘I will permit no man to narrow and degrade my soul by making me hate him.'

“Sir, you have shown me that there is value in adversity, that my challenges build muscle, and that my decisions matter. Let me deliver to you some powerful words that I have committed to memory. These are from page 197 of your autobiography.” George closed his eyes and recited.“I have learned that success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles he has overcome while choosing to succeed. Out of the hard and unusual struggle through which one is compelled to pass, he gets a strength and confidence that another might miss whose pathway is comparatively smooth by reason of birth or race.”

Opening his eyes and standing, George said,“Dr.Booker T. Washington, I say to you that we are overcoming an obstacle far greater than an abundance of peanuts. You have shown me that we are one race—the human race. Color of skin and form of hair mean nothing, but length and width and breadth of soul mean everything. I love these farmers. And though, at the moment, they surely do not love me, I will find an answer for these good men. I feel certain that in the long run, what we are now experiencing will prove beneficial for the farmers and for our school.”

Dr.Washington removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. “All right. I can accept that,” he said, rising. “For now though . . . what do we do next? And what should I tell the Agricultural Board?”

George thought for a moment, then answered.“Most of the farmers are just beginning their harvest. I don't wish to frighten you, but their fear—and our situation—will get worse before it gets better. Tell the Ag Board that you will have an announcement in two weeks . . . no, make that ten days . . . an announcement about new uses and opportunities for the peanut. Urge them to be patient and tell them that the farmer with the largest crop of peanuts will be the happiest farmer when your announcement is made.”

Dr.Washington's eyebrows lifted.

“And, sir,” George continued with a mischievous smile, “give the Board this information with that sly look that says, ‘I know something that I am not telling you.'”

The president shook his head and grinned wryly. “I
will
know something that I won't be telling them, George. I won't be telling them that I have no idea what I am talking about!”

George laughed.

“Seriously,” Dr.Washington asked,“what are your plans?” George lifted his chin. “I will be creating new uses and opportunities for the peanut.”

Dr.Washington sighed patiently. “There is no need to remind you that there are only ten days to accomplish this feat. After all, you just gave me the timetable. But I am curious . . . how do you intend to create these new uses and opportunities?”

“Well, sir,” George began,“the way I have it figured . . . I won't have to
create
anything. The uses and opportunities already exist for the peanut. I just don't know yet what they are. Now here's the thing . . .” He lowered his voice conspiratorially and moved closer to Dr.Washington. “All my life, I have risen regularly at four in the morning to go into the woods and talk with God. That's where He reveals His secrets to me. When everybody else is asleep, I hear God best and learn my plan. I never grope for methods. After my morning talk with Him, I go into the laboratory and carry out His wishes for the day. And this morning . . .” He glanced around. “This morning, I asked Him why He made the peanut.”

The president just looked at him. Then, he opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again.

“Go on now,” George urged with a chuckle. “Ask the question that's burning up the inside of your mouth.”

“Okay, then,” Dr. Washington responded, “what was God's answer?”

“First of all,”George began,“I was out there in the dark feeling sorry for myself. I've already talked to some of the farmers who are upset, so I knew this situation was about to bust loose. Sometimes, when I get to feeling sorry for myself, I ask too much of the good Lord. And I did that very thing this morning. I said, ‘God, why did You make the universe?' And He replied, ‘George, you need to ask something more in proportion to that little mind of yours!' So I said, ‘Okay, Lord, then tell me why You made the world or why You made people.' He said,‘Sorry. Still far too much for your small brain.'

“But I kept pushing it. I asked, ‘Why did You create plants?' The Lord answered, ‘That is yet another subject beyond your meager powers of comprehension.'

“So, very meekly, I asked, ‘The peanut?' and the Lord God said,‘Yes! For your modest level of intelligence, I will grant you the mysteries of the peanut. Take it inside your laboratory,' He told me,‘and separate the peanut into water, fats, oils, gums, resins, sugars, starches, and amino acids. Then recombine these under My three laws of compatibility, temperature, and pressure. Then,' the good Lord said, ‘you will know why I made the peanut!'”

With those words, George spread his arms out wide and added,“And in ten days,Dr.Washington,we will have ourselves some answers!”

Both men laughed heartily, then the president asked, “Does God always provide you with answers?”

George leaned forward, suddenly serious again.“Let me put it this way: The Lord always provides me with life-changing ideas. Not that I am special. The Lord provides
everyone
with life-changing ideas. These ideas are quite literally a treasure map from the Almighty. It is up to each of us, however, to choose to dig for the treasure. Every man and woman on the planet contains within them the power to change the world, but this power is only manifested when one makes a conscious choice to use it.”

George considered his words, then added, “This is why our world contains so many people who are depressed and unfulfilled. They have joined the growing multitudes who do not act upon the life-changing ideas that are theirs alone. A person who is
acting
upon an idea is happy and fulfilled. But a person who only
intends
to do this or that spirals into an ever-deepening pool of guilt and regret.

“Think of the books and songs that will never be written— works that will remain only in the mind of a person too fearful or selfish or lazy to dig for the treasure. And I am convinced—I have no proof of this, you understand, but I am convinced—that every choice one makes and every action one takes, or doesn't take, significantly affects the lives of everyone else. We are all connected to each other through our actions. Our decisions to act or not to act, to help or not to help—well, those choices create a ripple effect that can last for centuries.

“Here's what I mean. Take, for example, a person who has literally changed the world with an invention. Often, a person like that might point to a particular book that directed or inspired him to his life's work. Now, to whom do we owe the debt of gratitude for enriching our lives so significantly with that invention? The inventor? Or the author of the book that the inventor freely admits led him to a life of inventing in the first place?”

George shifted in his chair and, crossing his arms, tapped his chin with a forefinger as if lost in thought.“Or do we thank the teacher who encouraged the child to become an author? Certainly, without the teacher, the book would never have been written. And of course, this was the very book that inspired the person who created the invention that changed the world.”

With his finger still tapping his chin, George watched Dr.Washington from the corner of his eye and continued to think out loud. “Or is the world indebted to the old woman who created a scholarship fund so that a young person could go to college and become the teacher who encouraged the child who became the author of the book that inspired the person whose invention changed the world? Maybe we owe our appreciation to the man who drove the wagon . . .” George paused.

Transfixed, Booker T.Washington—the man who himself had been a slave and whom many were already calling one of the greatest minds of the twentieth century—simply stared at his friend. Prompting George to finish his thought, he repeated his last words.“The man who drove the wagon?” “You know, the man who drove the wagon . . . that carried the lumber that was used to build the doctor's office. Nobody ever knew! But the doctor's office was where the woman's life was saved who, several years later, bore the child who grew up to create the scholarship fund in the first place.” He smiled and stood up.“Yes,we definitely need to thank the man who drove the wagon, because
he
is the one who changed the world.”

With that, George shrugged and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned one last time and said,“Or maybe somebody helped the man who drove the wagon, you think?” He smiled broadly, then added, “In any case, there's more going on in Tuskegee,Alabama, than a bunch of people with too many peanuts. That ain't the end of
this
story.”

ALABAMA—JANUARY 1943

“And when he emerged from his laboratory,” the speaker said in a clear voice,“on the morning of the tenth day, the uses and opportunities he had discovered for the peanut included glue; shaving cream; shampoo; soap; insecticide; peanut butter, of course; axle grease; diesel fuel; linoleum”— the vice president of the United States of America turned a page of his notes—“nitroglycerin; insulation; bleach; ink . . .”

Dr. Frederick Patterson, president of Tuskegee Institute, crossed, and then uncrossed, his legs. Austin Curtiss, George Carver's assistant,was seated beside him on the left edge of the new platform which had been finished just that morning by the Student Government Association. Patterson was slightly cool, but otherwise comfortable on this sunny, winter morning. Scanning the audience for familiar faces, he recognized more than a few, including Henry Ford and his wife, who were sitting on the first row. He directed his attention back to the vice president, who continued reading excerpts from a list of items that had eventually totaled more than three hundred,“. . . meat tenderizer; cooking oil; vinegar; evaporated milk . . .”

For three days now,Tuskegee had experienced a deluge of people arriving by air, bus, train, car,wagon, and on foot. From all over the world, literally thousands had braved the dangers and inconvenience of travel during this terrible time of a world at war. The small town had neither the hotels nor the restaurants to care for the guests, most of whom had come uninvited. Therefore, many of them had simply waited patiently in the fields and streets, gathering in groups to talk quietly or occasionally build a small fire after dark by which to keep the January chill at bay.

Every church and school building in Macon County— even the courthouse—had opened their doors to provide temporary accommodations for the families who flooded the tiny community. And they had all come to honor the man whose remains now lay in the polished oak casket placed carefully on a large table at the foot of the platform. At the age of seventy-seven, George Washington Carver had died in his sleep sometime during the evening of January 5. The crowd, some seated, but most standing, represented the world's every age and race—for he had touched them all. There was a delegation from India sent by Mahatma Gandhi, who had sought Carver's advice on building and maintaining his country's agricultural system. Officials from Great Britain, Brazil, and Chile were in attendance. Even Joseph Stalin, who had solicited Carver's help in exploiting the vast expanse of land in Russia, sent a representative to convey his respect. At the moment, all were listening in amazement to the list that punctuated a story they had heard many times.

“. . . charcoal; textile dyes; wood stains; cosmetics; fertilizer; baby cream; tannic acid—and a sauce, butter substitute, and condiment that have become better known as Worcestershire, margarine, and mayonnaise.”The vice president deliberately set the list aside and looked up. He was a slim man of average height. His silver hair matched the dark-gray suit he wore. Pinned on his lapel was a small cutting of spruce. From his vantage point on the platform, he could see that many others in the crowd had also attached a piece of greenery to a jacket or dress as a way of honoring the man whose life had counted for so much.