nd
bank built, owned and operated by negro capital) to keep loungers away.
The colored theater (negroes are admitted only to the balconies of
theaters in Hot Springs--one section of the balcony at the legitimate
theater) she noticed was now serving as a religious gathering place. The
well built and excellently maintained Pythian Bath house (where the hot
waters are made available to colored folk) with the Alice Eve Hospital
(45 beds, 5 nurses, 2 resident physicians--negro doctors thruout the
town cooperating--surgical work a specialty) stood out in quiet dignity.
For the rest, buildings were an indiscriminate hodge-podge of homes,
apartment houses, shacks, and chain groceries. At the corner where "the
street turns white" the interviewer turned east.

The Langston High School (for colored--with a reputation for turning out
good cooks, football players and academicians) stands on Silver Street.
A few paces from the building the interviewer met a couple of plump
colored women laughing and talking loudly.

"I beg your pardon," was her greeting, "can you tell me where Wade
Street is?" They could and did. They were so frankly interested in
knowing why the white women wanted Emma Sanderson that she told them
her mission. They were not taken aback--there was no servility--no
resentment they were frankly charmed with the idea. Their directions for
finding Mrs. Sanderson became even more explicit.

When the proper turn off was found the question of Wade versus
Washington Street was settled. A topsy-turvy sign at the intersection
announced that Wade Street was ahead. Emma Sanderson's grandson lived a
couple of blocks down the road.

Only the fact that she could hear someone inside moving about kept the
interviewer hammering on the door. Finally she was rewarded by a voice.
"Is that somebody a' knockin'?" In a moment the door opened. The
question, "Were you a slave" no matter how delicately put is a difficult
one to ask, but Mrs. Sanderson was helpful, if doubtful that her story
would do much good. "I was just so little when it all happened." But the
interviewer was invited in and placed in a chair near the fire.

"No ma'am. He ain't my grandson--I's the third grandmother. No son, you
ain't three--you's five. Don't you remember what I told you? Yes, he
stays with me, ma'am. I take care of him while the rest of 'em works.

"It's hard for me to remember. I was just so little. Yes, ma'am, I was
born a slave--but I was so little.