The Lost Choice

by Andy Andrews

  Henry seemed to consider this, then asked, “Was he a special man because he wore the food stone?”

  “No, child,” George said carefully.“He was a special man because he decided to be.”

  “George?”The child moved to a sitting position facing his friend. His legs were crossed “Indian style” as he leaned forward with the object and indicated the markings on one side.“Do you know what this says?”

  “Yes,” George replied. “It says, ‘Henry Wallace will be a great man. His life will make a difference in this world, because he will always choose to make a difference.’”

  “Wow! Really?” Henry asked.

  “That’s it,” George said. “That stone you hold says the same thing to me. It represents my father reminding me every day that I am important—that I have a mission in my life.”

  “What is your mission?”

  “Henry, my mission is to learn to do common things uncommonly well and to use those skills and that knowledge to change the lives of those less fortunate than myself. And I’m going to do that with plants. People’re starving, child, and anything that helps fill the dinner pail is valuable.” “That’s my mission too,” the boy said earnestly. “Will you help me?”

  “Of course,” George responded. “As you grow up, remember that you have worn the food stone and pledged to do something special with your life. You won’t always have George around, but that won’t matter. Because you have been made to make a difference. And I believe that you will.”

  SEVEN

  TUSKEGEE, ALABAMA—AUGUST 1914

  THE AIR WAS THICK. THE TWO MEN, FACING EACH other with only a desk between them, talked in harsh whispers. At two o’clock in the afternoon, the thermometer outside the administration building had reached 102 degrees; however, it wasn’t the heat or humidity in the president’s office that had negatively affected the atmosphere. The tension, on this day, not only trumped the heat but created a climate of intensity that was quickly becoming unbearable.

  When Booker Taliaferro Washington had arrived to take the helm of Tuskegee Institute in 1881, he had no buildings, no students, and no teachers. In a few short years, starting with an appropriation of just two thousand dollars from the Alabama State Legislature, he had created the premier black educational establishment in the nation. Luring the brilliant, but infuriating, man who now sat before him to the campus as a teacher had been one of his greatest successes and a primary reason for the school’s considerable growth.

  In April of 1896, George Carver, then a professor at Iowa State and already reputed to be a scientific prodigy of immense proportions, received an interesting offer from the renowned educator. In his letter,Dr.Washington wrote, “I cannot offer you money, position, or fame. The first two you have. The last, from the position you now occupy, you will no doubt achieve. These things I now ask you to give up. I offer you in their place: work—hard, hard work, the task of bringing a people from degradation, poverty, and waste to full manhood. Your department exists only on paper and your laboratory will have to be in your head.”

  Carver’s acceptance was immediate, and after fulfilling his obligations at Iowa State, he turned his attention to Dr. Washington’s challenge. He arrived at the rail station in Chehaw, Alabama, in early October and was taken to the campus in Tuskegee by wagon. There, the professor unpacked his microscope, assorted chemicals, and his one suit. Dr.Washington had personally escorted him to the one-room apartment he would call home, watching closely for any sign that his newest faculty member might suddenly change his mind and flee. But, of course, there was none.

  Through the course of several years, Professor Carver’s classes—which included botany, chemistry, and soil study— evolved into the Department of Scientific Agriculture. The teacher became an inventor, creating new varieties of plants and fertilizers. He taught farmers and their families how to preserve foods for the winter and produced recipes and menus that introduced balanced diets and increased vitality to the poor.

  It was Carver’s latest discovery, however, that had now embroiled Tuskegee Institute in controversy and convinced Dr. Booker T.Washington that the school was in trouble. The fifty-eight-year-old Washington perspired profusely as he tried to ignore the afternoon heat. He leaned forward and spoke to the most admired member of his faculty.

  “Professor Carver . . . George . . . what have we done?”

  “Well, Dr. Washington,” Carver answered in his high, raspy voice, “I don’t think we have done anything. You are certainly not to blame for any consternation on the part of the farmers. It seems that this is entirely my doing.” George clasped his hands in his lap, not nervously, for he wasn’t nervous, but in the manner of one exhibiting extreme patience.

  The president shook his head. “It’s not just our people, George. The white farmers are afraid too.” He glanced around and lowered his voice even more.“We’re receiving threats. You . . . and the school. And the State Agricultural Board is sending an investigative delegation tomorrow morning. George—they could shut us down.” He rubbed his face with his hands.“My Lord . . . I never saw this coming . . . I have been traveling so much . . .” Drawing a deep breath, he said, “Take me back to the beginning here. Maybe we can figure out what to do. Why in the world did they plant so many peanuts in the first place?”

  “Dr. Washington, you know I appreciate the level of trust you’ve placed in me over the years.” George wiped his brow. “You’ve never second-guessed me or watched over my shoulder. And you know that I’ve always had the best interest of the farmer in mind—even when I’m dealing with the students.”Washington nodded patiently.“But that degree of trust has naturally placed you in a position of being somewhat uninformed in regards to my daily efforts. Do you remember that barren twenty-one-acre tract on the east boundary of campus? It was donated to the school four years ago.”

  “Yes, I remember,”Washington replied. “It was given to us because it was worthless.”

  “That’s right,” George confirmed.“I checked the county records. The last planting of cotton, it produced forty-four pounds per acre. That was four years ago—the soil was worn out. On a small scale, I had been experimenting with naturally produced fertilizer for some time. This, I saw, was an opportunity to step up the research.”

  As George took a breath, the president broke in.“Naturally produced fertilizer? I’m not following you . . . and are we getting to the peanuts?”

  George cleared his throat. “Yes, Dr.Washington, we are. Most fertilizer has, as its basis, nitrogen. Legumes—plants like cow peas and peanuts—are plants that have nitrogen-producing bacteria on their roots. Simply explained, the bacteria removes nitrogen from the air and distributes it through the root system into the soil, which becomes enriched.”

  “So, am I to assume that you planted peanuts on that barren plot?”

  “Yes, sir. Peanuts. For two years we planted peanuts. The third year, we planted that same twenty-one acres in cotton again.” George paused and watched the president of the college,waiting for the question he knew would come. “And?” Dr.Washington drew out the word, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice.

  “And, in the third year, that twenty-one-acre parcel of land produced almost eleven thousand pounds of cotton. By the way, the math on that works out to more than five hundred pounds of cotton per acre.”

  Dr. Washington was incredulous. Leaning forward, he looked around quickly as if to conceal a secret and said, “Does anyone else know about this?”

  “Of course!” Carver exclaimed. “I made certain that every farmer between Montgomery and Columbus saw the field with their own eyes. That’s why they planted the peanuts!”

  Dr.Washington fell back in his chair and exhaled. He peered out the window and nervously rapped his knuckles on the desk. Then he stood and, walking around the desk to George, sat on its corner and said,“I want to make sure I have this straight. You convinced every farmer within a hundred miles of here to plant peanuts because their soil was worn
out.”

  “The soil was worn out,” George insisted.“It was—”

  Dr.Washington held up his hand. “Let me finish,” he said. He took a deep breath to compose himself and continued. “Long story short, these men planted all their fields in peanuts. Now they have thousands of pounds— tons—of peanuts, and there is no market for their crop. Is that correct?”

  “At this moment, yes,”Carver responded.“That is correct.”

  The president stood and slammed his fist on the desk. Shoving his face into the face of the younger man, he growled, “Holy God, man! Do you not understand what this means to this university? These white farmers hold our very lives in their hands! We only exist because of the gracious favor of the state legislature, and now we have potentially ruined a third of the farming families in this state!”

  “Dr. Washington,” George said softly, “those farmers would have been ruined within the year in any case. People would have starved.”

  Washington slammed his hand down on the desk again and cursed. “But not by our hand!” he shouted. “They would not have starved by our hand!”

  For several long moments, both men were silent. The college president stalked around the office glowering at the professor who continued to annoy him by remaining calm. Before too long, however, George Carver spoke. When he did, it was with a gentle voice. “Dr.Washington, I have admired you for many years. From you, I have learned to deal with the ups and downs of life. You told me when I came here that ‘character, not circumstances, makes the man.’What we have here, sir, is a circumstance.

  “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.