“I lived then in a small brick house in Manhattan, and, being for the moment solvent, employed a Negro. Across the street and on the corner there was a bar and restaurant. One winter dusk when the sidewalks were iced I stood in my window looking out and saw a tipsy woman come out of the bar, slip on the ice, and fall flat. She tried to struggle up but slipped and fell again and lay there screaming maudlinly. At that moment the Negro who worked for me came around the corner, saw the woman, and instantly crossed the street, keeping as far from her as possible.
When he came in I said, ‘I saw you duck. Why didn’t you give that woman a hand?’
‘Well, sir, she’s drunk and I’m Negro. If I touched her she could easy scream rape, and then it’s a crowd, and who believes me?’
‘It took quick thinking to duck that fast.’
‘Oh, no sir!’ he said. ‘I’ve been practicing to be a Negro a long time.'”