The Story of an Iconic American Storyteller
Today is the 175th anniversary of a profound essay. The lessons it teaches are vital right now.
“There is a prophet within us,
forever whispering that behind the seen
lies the immeasurable unseen.”
~ Fred Bailey
On this day in 1848, one of the best storytellers in American history published a remarkable work – one that is vital for us to read and understand today.
It began a decade earlier, in September 1838, when he summoned the courage to embark on an epic adventure.
In broad daylight, Fred Bailey stood outside the Baltimore train station disguised as a sailor. Wearing a red shirt, black tie, and tarpaulin hat, he waited nervously. His fiancée Anna held him close. Family lore says she sold her bed to help him purchase the ticket.
In his pocket, Bailey held a retired sailor friend’s identification and papers to present at several checkpoints. With tears in his eyes, he hugged and kissed his fiancée, not knowing whether he’d ever see her again.
According to historian David W. Blight, Bailey “jumped on the crowded negro car and began the most famous escape in the annals of American slavery.”
By his side he carried “his constant companion, [his] almost . . . sole worldly possession” – a book of famous speeches called The Columbian Orator. A powerful public speech, Bailey believed, could “scatter the clouds of ignorance and error from the atmosphere of reason . . . [and] irradicate the benighted mind with the cheering beams of truth.”
He was just a young slave, but one who secretly learned to read and loved being immersed in brilliant oratory. Inspired to achieve greatness in the “business and glory of eloquence,” Bailey headed northeast to an unknown future.
Later he wrote:
No man can tell the intense agony which is felt by the slave, when wavering on the point of making his escape. All that he has is at stake. . . . The life which he has may be lost, and the liberty which he seeks may not be gained.
Traveling through slave states, Bailey handed his papers to conductors and fielded questions from a young boat worker about his sailing past. His heart surely sank as he saw a powerful man who knew him. The man took no notice. A blacksmith recognized him but kept silent.
The fugitive took two trains and a ferry before arriving in Wilmington, where he boarded a steamboat and rode up the Delaware River. He stepped off in Philadelphia and stood on free soil. The next morning he arrived, awestruck and alone, on the crowded streets of Manhattan.
“Gazing upon the dazzling wonders of Broadway,” he would later recall, “free earth under my feet! . . . I was a FREEMAN, and the voice of peace and joy thrilled my heart!”
Within weeks, Bailey would reunite with Anna, marry her, and change his name to Douglass. Frederick Douglass.
When Douglass spoke, people listened — enthralled. Journalist William Lloyd Garrison called Douglass’ first formal speech as a fugitive “extraordinary,” writing that he was “richly endowed” with intellect and “more eloquent” in the cause of liberty than even the Founding Fathers.
Douglass felt privileged to read and think for himself. He mastered the art of telling his own story and honed his public speaking skills to spread his ideas like wildfire, altering the landscape of countless minds and, eventually, the world.
A dedicated advocate for free speech, he became the 19th century’s most photographed American and perhaps its most powerful voice for the voiceless, helping to abolish slavery as well as advance women’s rights.
“We . . . felt the presence of his magic.”
~ The poet Paul Laurence Dunbar on listening to Frederick Douglass speak
A decade after his escape, on September 22, 1848, Douglass published a famous open letter to his former slave master, Thomas Auld.
This was a man who made Douglass feel like “a poor, degraded chattel — trembling at the sound” of Auld’s voice. A man who tied Douglass’ cousin Henny, a crippled girl, to a joist and savagely beat her, then left her to hang for several hours dripping blood onto the floor before returning to beat her again.
If you were Douglass, what would you say to Thomas Auld?
Douglass filled his open letter with vivid stories from his life. Many people would read it and he wanted to make sure they understood and felt the folly of slavery.
Crucially, this is how Douglass concludes his letter to his former slave master:
I entertain no malice toward you personally. There is no roof under which you would be more safe than mine, and there is nothing in my house which you might need for your comfort, which I would not readily grant. Indeed, I should esteem it a privilege, to set you an example as to how mankind ought to treat each other.
I am your fellow man, but not your slave, Frederick Douglass.
Douglass knew it was not enough to express righteous indignation. To make the world better, we must bring our ideas to life in an intelligent and eloquent way – while showing with compassion the correct path forward.
Regardless of how people treat us, Douglass showed we always have the freedom to choose how we treat them. We can advance our causes while transcending outrage.
Bring your ideas to life in an intelligent and eloquent way –
while showing with compassion the correct path forward.
Imagine if we all took Douglass’ approach. Especially with those who cause us suffering. How our daily, and digital, lives would improve!
The world would be instantly elevated.
No one reading this will likely face anything remotely as harsh as the injustices Douglass faced. Yet how many of us nonetheless find ourselves expressing outrage and indignation?
How long has it been since you posted something online that simply elicits anger? How often do you criticize, condemn, or complain about people who hold different views from you?
We are divided and angry with each other. We increasingly believe that violence is justified to advance our causes. This week the Pew Research Center published startling data that drives home how loathsome our discourse has become.
Douglass offers us a path out. We can’t control everyone else, of course – but today, and every day, we can choose to control ourselves.
I challenge you to follow Douglass’ lead.
Transcend your outrage. Bring your ideas to life in an intelligent and eloquent way – while showing us with compassion the correct path forward.
(Note: Today’s piece is updated from an op-ed I wrote for Inside Sources.)