Janitor John

The star of the show rubbed corn meal on his jowls to fake a grey beard, blacked out his gleaming front teeth with charcoal, put on an ancient linen duster and battered black felt hat, picked up a chinaberry walking stick. Then John Henry Moreland hobbled on to the stage of the Madison, Ga. public school, as Uncle Remus. The white folks in the P.T.A. were celebrating John Henry Moreland's 50th year as school janitor, friend and confidant.

John Moreland, one of eleven sons of a slave, never had much chance at schooling himself. So he took the janitor's job at the high school, as a boy of 17. He got the teachers to leave their lessons on the blackboard so that he could study them when they went home. Soon the students sidled up to Janitor John with their knotty problems in algebra. When the younger students got restless waiting for the bus to take them home, they made John tell them long stories from Uncle Remus. Sometimes John made them up.

That was the way it was at the P.T.A. show last week. Five first-graders perched around him while he told a story he made up: Br'er Rabbit an' de Suhip Bahul (syrup bowl). After Br'er Rabbit stole Br'er Fox's syrup and got himself smeared, said Moreland, "he lookt like a witch an' a ghos' an' a buzzard wropt inter one."

In the next scene John was in his Sunday suit, sitting on the stage with four white friends, including the past and present school superintendents. Bald, bespectacled John rocked, listened intently, nodded his head while his four friends eulogized him. When the praise seemed too lush to him, he blew out his cheeks; when it touched a soft spot, he bit his lip.

Two potbellied stoves glowed red in the auditorium. More than 400 people were packed in the hall, including one alumnus who had come from Los Angeles for the doings. Twenty-one Negroes, invited by John, sat with the whites.

At the end of the show, Superintendent W. L. Brookshire handed John a check for $1,335, collected from Madison alumni in 26 states and four foreign countries. John crossed the stage twice before he turned to the audience and found words to say. Said he: "A thousand dollars. I never SAW a thousand dollars. Some say money talks. I can hear this check talkin', sayin' to me it came from willin' eager han's, sayin' to me 'you take care of me now, and I'll take care of you when you needs me.' It's talkin' another language too, the language of friendship. . . . I jus' feel like runnin' some place by myself and cryin'. God bless you all."

Then he hurried out, home to his invalid wife. For the first time in 50 years he forgot to lock the schoolhouse door. The superintendent did it for him.

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