It's An Hour During The Week Where

My Parents Were Teachers And They Went Out Of Their Way To See To It That I Had Books. We Grew Up In A Home That Was Full Of Books. And So I Learned To Read. I Loved To Read.

I Get Interviewed A Lot, And I Found Myself Listening To What The Interviewer Is Asking Me, I'm Analyzing What I'm Being Asked More Than My Response.

I Think Most People When You Say Slavery Tend To See A Group Of Anonymous People Pulling Cotton Sacks In Great Plantation Fields, And That Is Largely True.

You Don't Spend Twenty Years Of Your Life In The Service And Not Have A Warm, Nostalgic Feeling Left In You. It's A Small Service, And There's A Lot Of Esprit De Corps.

I Certainly Wasn't Seeking Any Degree, The Way A College Confers A Status Symbol Upon Its Students. My Homemade Education Gave Me, With Every Additional Book That I Read, A Little Bit More Sensitivity To The Deafness, Dumbness And Blindness That Was Afflicting The Black Race In America. Not Long Ago, An English Writer Telephoned Me, Asking Questions. One Was, "what's Your Alma Mater?" I Told Him, "books.