John Hope Franklin: The Great Ones Are Like That

(First published ten years ago today)

I sure felt like hugging John Hope Franklin when I spoke with him at Saturday’s book signing at Barnes & Noble. Our encounter was brief: only a couple of minutes while he signed a copy of one of his books for me. He’s forgotten it already: I never will.

My family and I had to make a concerted effort just to be in Winston-Salem—to say nothing of the book store—during the hours Dr. Franklin was scheduled to appear. We got up early and drove nearly two hours to Shelby to visit my father-in-law in the Cleveland County Memorial Hospital where he was recovering nicely from last week’s surgery. Then we started back, stopping only for a fast-food lunch. We found ourselves near Tanglewood at two o’clock. My husband assured me we would make it. We did.

When we arrived at the store, Dr. Franklin was answering questions posed by members of a small racially mixed audience sitting or standing near the table where he had obviously been signing books. Copies of several titles were available for purchase. (Surely I wasn’t too late! I bought my copy of The Color Line Thursday evening, just to be sure.) The first question (that I heard) concerned the difference between slavery in the United States and that in South America. Dr. Franklin made light of the alleged difference: “kindly masters” or not, slavery is slavery.

He continued his brief statement by noting that, sadly enough, racial equality did not truly exist in Brazil (as it does not in the United States) when he made several trips there to lecture in the universities. Despite the rhetoric that boasted of a non-racist society, Franklin saw almost no blacks working in industry. He cited the banks as a specific example. However, he saw many black people sweeping the streets. When he commented on this (after being almost badgered into confirming the existence of non-racist life there), he was told that equality was “coming.” Blacks were “preparing” for the equality that would soon arrive. Yet Franklin also noted there were no blacks in the universities either. Where was this preparation taking place? Equality existed only in white folk’s imaginations, where it often resides.

Dr. Franklin also commented on his own change of attitude (over the years) toward the racial climate in the United States. He is now less optimistic, less hopeful, than he once was. He suggested that tracing his attitudinal change through his eight editions of From Slavery to Freedom might make an interesting book—to say nothing of challenging.

When the questions were over, Dr. Franklin moved quietly to his seat and began signing books again. The people, waiting for signatures—it wasn’t a line as much as a group—spoke to each other about Franklin and about books they had found in the store, among other matters. It was a friendly gathering. I recognized four or five people there. The small group came to see a man whose wisdom they already revered. Yet I found myself wishing that lines had been long and that the store had been filled to overflowing. I’m afraid too few among us realized just who we seeing (or failing to see). It is indeed to the credit of Barnes and Noble that such a man was invited to Winston-Salem as a part of their celebration of Black History Month.

A sage can somehow turn a two-minute encounter into a meaningful, unforgettable experience. Dr. Franklin did just that. He spoke to every person about specific concerns that afternoon. Each person in turn asked him a question or commented on something he or she had learned from one of Franklin’s books. Comments were meaningful, though brief.

When it was my turn, I told Dr. Franklin that From Slavery to Freedom was among the first books I had read when I first became interested in race relations, and thus, a part of my earliest exposure to African American history. Oh, for the day when will we be able to call it by its proper name: American history.

He asked my name to personalize my book as he signed it. Warmly, he shook my hand. He looked at me as though our conversation were the most important thing he would do all day. I mentioned to him that I hope to write a book someday. And then—because my studies are still incomplete—I added, “But I still have so much to learn.” And that wonderfully wise old man said to me, “So do I.”

Why is it that we so soon forget that the truly great ones are never arrogant? People who are as wise as Dr. Franklin dare to be, what many of us long to be: Genuine. Humility is so very becoming, and it never costs us even an ounce of knowledge. Humility enlarges one’s humanity. No wonder I felt like hugging John Hope Franklin. Come to think of it, I believe I did.

first published in the Winston-Salem Chronicle February 27, 1997