by Rebel Girls
“That’s the only shampoo there is, baby,” her mother replied.
Sarah reluctantly dropped the bottle in her basket.
~
With Lelia away at college, Sarah had more time to herself. She enrolled in night school. There, she learned reading, math, geography, and bookkeeping. On the weekends, she volunteered at an organization dedicated to helping the poor.
At one meeting, Sarah passed around a newspaper with a headline that read: “Local Man Struggles to Care for Family.”
“We should host a bake sale for this man,” Sarah said. She remembered what it felt like to go hungry. Sometimes she hadn’t even had so much as a handful of grits for breakfast.
The following Sunday, everyone brought a little something to sell. Jenny made crackling bread. Thelma baked a pie with fresh blackberries. Sarah recreated her mother’s wedding cake. The desserts sold faster than they could put slices on the plates!
Sarah’s fundraiser was such a success that the local paper wanted to run a story on it.
One of the newspaper journalists, Charles Walker, invited Sarah into a small office full of piles of paper covered in scribblings. The typewriter keys on the desk looked so well worn, Sarah wondered how many words he typed in a day.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Breedlove,” Charles said. “I’ve heard so many good things about your work.”
“Why thank you, Mr. Walker,” said Sarah. “The pleasure is all mine.”
Charles’s handshake was firm and sure, and Sarah liked him right away. He was smart and ambitious, and funny, too! They went on a few dates. Charles always dressed formally whether it was the weekend or a workday, and Sarah teased him about his love of matching bow ties and socks. Soon after, they became a couple.
Sarah now had a new boyfriend, a daughter in college, and a happy, busy life. She started getting invitations to events sponsored by well-to-do black people. But Sarah was not completely comfortable at these gatherings. She felt she stood out, and not in a good way.
The women at the parties had fancier clothes, lighter skin, and long, shiny hair. Sarah had dark brown skin and while she was not ashamed of her skin, her hair was another story. Sarah’s hair was kinky and short, with flaky bald spots. No matter how hard she tried, she could not get her hair to grow.
Sarah decided to make her hair so beautiful that she never had to cover it or feel ashamed of it again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sarah dropped another clothespin into the metal bucket and creased the fold of a crisp white pillowcase. There was a knock at the door.
A smartly dressed woman stood on Sarah’s porch with a huge suitcase beside her. Smiling brown eyes peered out from behind a pair of round glasses. Sarah noticed that the woman’s hair was pinned behind her head, but it looked shiny and healthy. “Hello. I’m Annie Turnbo. May I have a few minutes of your time?”
Sarah looked at Annie skeptically. But curiosity got the best of her so she let the woman inside. Annie had barely gotten through the door when she held up a small bottle and began talking a mile a minute.
“So you say it grows hair?” Sarah asked doubtfully, turning the bottle over in her hands. She examined the label, reading the list of ingredients.
Many companies claimed to make products that grew black women’s hair, but none of them really worked. And Sarah had had enough of being told she would only be beautiful if she looked like a white woman.
“It’s not a straightener, is it?” she asked. “I like my hair kinky.”
“Oh, I love kinky hair, too,” Annie said. “This product won’t straighten your hair. It will heal your scalp so that your hair grows.”
“How does it do that?” Sarah asked.
“Why don’t you come to my workshop?” Annie suggested. “I’ll give you tips on how to make your hair healthier. In the meantime, let me wash your hair with my special shampoo. You’ll love it!”
Sarah sat in a chair at her kitchen table while Annie filled a large bowl with water. Annie leaned Sarah’s head back and gently rinsed her hair, added shampoo, then worked it into a lather. It was tingly at first, but Sarah loved how it calmed her itchy scalp. When Annie finished washing, drying, and combing Sarah’s hair, it felt soft and fluffy instead of wiry and tangled.
“I’ll definitely come to your class,” Sarah said, handing Annie fifty cents for the rest of the shampoo.
~
Later that week, Sarah sat right in the front row so she wouldn’t miss a thing.
“Clean scalps mean clean bodies. If you look good, people will think you’re more accomplished. If you look accomplished, you’ll get more business opportunities. More business opportunities lead to more money. And I don’t have to tell you what you can do with more money!” Annie boasted, making everyone laugh. “The Wonderful Hair Grower will not only grow your hair, it will make you rich, ladies!”
The whole room hummed with excitement.
At the end of Annie’s workshop, Sarah was ready to sign her name to become a Turnbo sales agent. As one of Annie’s agents, she would earn double what she made now. She could quit washing clothes and still pay all her bills. There would even be a little extra cash left over to send to Lelia.
Sarah was convinced that selling Annie Turnbo’s products would change her life. Plus, she wanted all the black women of St. Louis to look and feel good. Nothing, she decided, could be better than that.
CHAPTER SIX
In the two years since she’d started using Annie’s products and practicing Turnbo beauty techniques, Sarah’s scalp had gotten healthier. The flakes of dandruff practically disappeared, and so did the embarrassing bald spots. And wonder of wonders, Sarah’s hair kept growing. First into a short, fluffy afro, and then into a longer, poofy one until it hung down to her shoulders. In fact, Sarah’s hair was so glorious that she became a walking advertisement for Annie’s products.
“Before I started using the Wonderful Hair Grower, my hair was only two inches long. Just look at me now!” Sarah told her clients. “You’re going to want this for yourselves. I’ll even let you try it for free. That’s how much I believe in Annie Turnbo’s Wonderful Hair Grower!”
Sarah became a top saleswoman in St. Louis and was richer than she’d ever been in her life.
As time went on, Sarah began to wonder if she could go into business for herself. She had already thought of ways to make a product even better than Annie’s. But she knew Annie was not kind to those who tried to go into the hair business in St. Louis. Lately, Annie had been posting hurtful ads about new products and had tried to run other haircare sellers out of town. Secretly, Sarah stopped working as a Turnbo agent and started making plans to move to a city out of Annie’s reach.
Sarah set her sights on Denver, Colorado, where her brother Owen now lived with his wife and their four daughters. She had received letter after letter about how the dry air caused her nieces’ hair to become brittle, and about the lack of black hair care products in Denver. Sarah was convinced that Colorado was the place to make her start.
When she told Charles her decision, he was disappointed. But he understood and admired Sarah’s passion to put her business first. They put their relationship on hold, and he promised to join her in Denver as soon as he could.
~
In Denver, Sarah worked as a cook in a boarding house. But her real work began when she got home each night.
First, she wrote down a list of ingredients she was sure would work well in her hair: coconut oil, petrolatum oil, and beeswax. She loved the smell of violet, so she added that to her list. Then she went to the store. Some of the items were on the shelves. Others she had to order.
As soon as she had all her ingredients, Sarah set to work in her kitchen. She reached for the biggest bowl she could find and a handful of long-handled spoons. Then she started mixing and stirring and stirring and mixing, looking like a mad scientist with a large curly afro.
Every now and then, she rubbed the paste she was making betwe
en her fingers and sniffed it, or slathered the cream onto a lock of her hair to see how it felt.
“Coconut oil and beeswax for softness. Geranium and violet for smell,” she murmured to herself, changing the measurements from one tablespoon to two. Sarah kept adding ingredients then took them away. She scribbled notes, then crossed them out.
Sarah continued this process for months, until she had the perfect creaminess and smell. She parted her hair with a wide-toothed comb and massaged the final recipe into her scalp.
“Perfect!” she exclaimed to the empty kitchen. Though her apron was splattered with oil and paste, her scalp felt refreshed and her hair baby soft.
She’d done it!
Sarah couldn’t wait to share her new recipe with the world. She placed an ad in the local black newspaper and used herself as the before and after picture. She was confident that if she could show how well her product worked, she would have more clients than she knew what to do with.
Sure enough, customers from all over Colorado clamored to try her newest hair mixture. They all wanted to have their hair done by the marvelous Sarah Breedlove!
~
Eventually, Charles decided to join Sarah in the West. She put on her best dress, dabbed a little violet on her wrists, and headed over to the train station to meet him. The second he saw Sarah, Charles ran toward her with a big grin on his face.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Sarah teased, tugging at his bow tie.
On the walk home, Sarah was nearly bursting with excitement as she told Charles everything she hadn’t been able to express in her letters. She described difficult customers she’d met selling her hair products door to door. “One slammed the door right in my face. And now she’s my best client!”
“Moving to Denver was a stroke of genius,” Charles said, slowing down on the sidewalk. “You’re a brilliant woman, Sarah Breedlove. Will you marry me?”
Sarah was overjoyed and nearly shouted the word “Yes!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Sarah set up a shop and salon in her home so she could take clients and advertise her products. Business was good, but “Sarah’s Wonderful Hair Grower” wasn’t selling as well as Annie’s well-known brand.
“Maybe it’s because of the name,” Sarah said to Charles one evening. She hunched over the kitchen table, pouring her sweet-smelling mixture into small round tins. “It should be more memorable.”
“Well, I don’t know about the name, but the ads with your picture got you a lot of customers,” Charles said. “You should do that again.”
“Oh yes, I planned on that,” Sarah replied. She held up one of the tins to the light for closer inspection. “I think I’ll put my picture on the tins, too.”
“The ads are so elegant,” Charles continued. “The name should match.”
Sarah glanced over at him. Charles was sitting at the table in his suit complete with matching bow tie and socks. He always looked so elegant.
“I know!” Sarah said, snapping her fingers. “How about Madam C. J. Walker? Madam sounds important and high-quality, just like my product. And C. J. Walker sounds elegant.”
“It sure does,” Charles agreed.
“Then we’ve got a name!” Sarah said joyfully. “Madam C. J. Walker’s Wonderful Hair Grower!”
After a few months of careful preparation, Sarah was ready. Under her new name, Madam C. J. Walker, she appeared in churches, community centers, and any place where black women gathered. Sarah began each session by telling the story of a dream that had started it all.
“A big black man appeared to me in a vision. He began mixing and pouring. He didn’t speak, but he showed me all the ingredients I needed. Some came from Africa, some from far away cities, and some from a plain old general store down the street! When I woke up, I wrote everything down as fast as I could.” Sarah leaned toward her audience and lowered her voice as if letting them in on a secret. “And I thought, a gift like this should be shared. That’s why I came here today, to share the magical formula with you all.”
Sarah showed the women how to care for their hair, like Annie Turnbo had done for her. But this time, the product was Madam C. J. Walker’s Wonderful Hair Grower. Sarah’s audience just couldn’t get enough of it! In fact, there were so many orders that Sarah could barely fill them. She needed an extra set of hands.
~
In 1906, fresh out of beauty college, Lelia came to her mother’s rescue. At twenty-one, Lelia had grown into a charming and outspoken young woman, just like Sarah. Gone were the baby-fine curls and chubby cheeks, replaced by long, shiny locks and defined cheekbones. With a beauty degree in one hand and a list of brand-new hair techniques in the other, Lelia was ready to begin her career as a stylist.
Lelia had learned a new way of straightening hair using hot iron combs. The combs didn’t make hair so brittle that it broke off, the way hair did when chemicals were used to straighten it. Best of all, women could simply wash their hair to go back to their kinky styles.
Lelia would spend an hour combing out each customer’s afro, washing and drying it, then massaging the scalp with a mixture to protect it from burning under heat. Next, the iron comb went in the fire to get piping hot. Then Lelia carefully ran the steaming comb through the customer’s hair.
“Hold your ear so I can get the edges,” she’d instruct the woman sitting in the salon chair.
In no time, the customer’s hair was straight and shiny and fell in gentle waves to her shoulders. Women would sometimes shriek with happiness and tip Lelia extra for the wonderful service.
Every person who left Lelia’s chair felt beautiful. Those satisfied customers spread the word about Madam C. J. Walker’s salon to anyone who would listen.
~
Soon, word of Sarah’s success got back to her mentor and former boss, Annie Turnbo. Annie believed Sarah had stolen her recipe, slapped on a new label, and was taking credit for Turnbo products. Desperate to stop Sarah from stealing her customers, Annie took her fight to the newspapers.
“Beware of copycats,” Annie warned. “Madam C. J. Walker would have been bald-headed if it weren’t for my help!”
Sarah snorted in disgust. “Annie Turnbo is a liar if I ever heard one. She helped me get my start, but that’s all she did. The rest I did on my own!”
Sarah responded by posting her own ad. Madam C. J. Walker declared that her product was the best of the best. Her hair grower was made with completely different ingredients than Annie’s, and her results were faster. People all over the country believed in Madam C. J. Walker. Her sales numbers were strong, and business was booming.
A week later, Annie announced that one of her hair stylists would be setting up shop in Sarah’s city.
Lelia nearly spit out her morning coffee when she heard the news. “Mama, what are we going to do? I’m good, but another shop could really hurt our business.”
“I’m not worried, and you shouldn’t be either.” Sarah tossed the newspaper into the trash. “I have a plan.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
A few weeks later, Sarah closed down her shop in Denver and hit the road.
Charles and Lelia went with her to continue packaging products and mailing them out to customers.
Who needs Denver? Sarah thought. There are customers all over the country waiting for me!
Even before her argument with Annie, Denver had begun to feel too small to Sarah. There weren’t as many black people in Colorado as there were in the southern and eastern parts of the country.
Everywhere Sarah went, she taught women how to use the Walker Method and encouraged them to open up their own shops, selling Madam C. J. Walker products. Her mission was to get as many women as she could to put down their washboards and pick up the ticket to prosperity.
After traveling through the South, the family of three headed up the East Coast to Pittsburgh. It was the perfect place to set up shop. Lelia took salon appointments and whipped up batches of hair creams in the evening. Charles packaged and mailed
out orders as fast as they came in. Every day, Sarah worked toward building an army of saleswomen.
Each time she stood before a group of potential Walker Agents, Sarah chose her outfit carefully, so she looked like a boss.
Maids, cooks, and washerwomen leaned in like flowers toward the sun as Madam C. J. Walker spoke in her big, powerful voice. Sarah’s puffy sleeves shook as she used her hands to punctuate each word. Unlike many of her students, she wore her hair uncovered and loose, which made everyone confident that her mixture worked.
“Growing hair is like growing collard greens.” Sarah placed a towel around the shoulders of a volunteer. “You know how we turn the soil before planting?”
The women nodded.
“Who can tell me why we do that?”
A woman’s hand shot up. “I do, Madam Walker! We loosen the soil so that all the good nutrients can get down to the roots.”
“That’s exactly it.” Sarah parted the volunteer’s hair with a skinny comb. “See this here? That’s dead skin.” She pointed to the white flakes on the volunteer’s scalp. “Hair can’t grow if dandruff is blocking all those nutrients from getting in.”
Sarah worked through the hair, gently parting the strands and removing the dead skin as she went. Then she had her students divide into pairs and practice on each other. She taught them her secret methods for shampooing and combing hair. She taught them how to style the hair in a way that would protect it. She taught them techniques to help hair grow. By the time Sarah finished, every woman in the room was a certified Walker Agent.
“Welcome to the Walker family,” Sarah announced, as she handed out paper certificates stamped with her official seal of approval.
Sarah loved listening to the murmur of voices and click-clack of feet leaving her workshop. She imagined each woman marching herself home and starting her own salon. Each agent could make up to fifteen dollars a day instead of a dollar as a washerwoman. Armed with their new knowledge, anything was possible.
