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240 pages, Paperback
First published December 31, 1970
One Sunday late in 1964, as I prepared to do this book and held the contract in my hands, I telephoned some friends to break the news. Much to my astonishment they said, "What, an auto-biography? Who are you to do an autobiography? What have you accomplished? If you tell your story, you’ll set Negro womanhood back a hundred years. You make a damned poor image of a Negro woman. You will do us no good. Nothing in your career has any meaning for the Group." As I listened I wanted to die. .. to hear my friends tell me that they viewed me and my career as meaningless trash.
“In our country there is a great deal of fretting over imagined differences between white men and women and Negro men and women. All of this stems from the simple fact that much normal contact between the two groups is illegal, has been illegal for centuries. This lack of knowledge of each other has bred ignorance, fear, fantasy, and a cultivated genre of lies and untruths. If you hold people apart by force and law, it is inevitable that they invent fallacies about each other. I was in some position to lean this simple truth.”
“In the last analysis what this society denied me was what it denies most women of color, perhaps all: simple respectability. If my story means anything, it means that the white millions still have to grant that simple and cost-less right to black women.”
“Finally when friends, physicians, and lawyers managed to convey to them that I was sick and broke beyond repair, they put my case in the dead file. Dead file. How true.”
I am weary now as any river that ever flowed: the disasters, the mistakes, the fortune made and misplaced, the lovers held and lost. What do you do when you are still young, and, so they say, still beautiful, and nothing much has meaning except to stay, to last, to hold on, to carry on regardless each day, wondering sometimes what for. Then what do you do? Why, of course, you pray. As Dunbar put it in his stanzas called "A Prayer":
O Lord, the hard-won miles Have worn my stumbling feet;
O soothe me with Thy smiles, And make my life complete.
The thorns were thick and keen
Where'er I trembling trod;
The way was long between
My wounded feet and God.
Where healing waters flow
Do Thou my footsteps lead.
My heart is aching so
Thy gracious balm I need.