On December 19, 1934, Elizabeth Johnston was resting at her campus cottage, Little Mount Vernon. She had only recently returned home from an operation intended to restore her failing eyesight. Even though she was not in good health, she was looking forward to Christmas and making plans for the various activities that would make the holidays more enjoyable for her boys.
After supper, Mrs. Johnston suffered some sharp pains, and her son Evans Johnston, who was staying with his mother while she convalesced, summoned a physician. By the time of his arrival, Mrs. Johnston was already feeling better, and he concluded that she was suffering from acute indigestion. She retired early, and when her son checked on her about midnight, he found her resting comfortably. During the night, however, death claimed the great lady. The Boys’ Banner, in the eloquent prose of the day, described it like this:
A messenger from the Grim Reaper called for Mrs. R. D. Johnston December 20, 1934 and carried her spirit to the mysterious realm where in dreamless slumbers she awaits the resurrection morn to greet those whom she loved.
Mrs. Johnston was eulogized at Birmingham’s South Highland Presbyterian Church, which she and her husband had helped to organize. She was laid to rest with other members of her family in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Accolades poured in from all quarters. The Banner concluded its tribute by saying,
Mrs. R. D. Johnston is gone but to those who knew her, the memory of her life and her deeds will never fade, but will live on and grow clearer. To have known her is a pleasure, and to have been privileged to have a part in the work she started is a benediction.1
The Birmingham Age-Herald was effusive in its praise in a Christmas Eve editorial:
Rarely does one have the satisfaction of rounding out a long and full life as did Mrs. R. D. Johnston, dying upon the campus of the institution which had its origin in her mind and will and its fulfillment in countless lives made straight and right by its ministrations. The Alabama Boys’ Industrial School was her creation. It remains her monument, though her body rests in the state of her nativity.
Mrs. Johnston’s mortal remains are buried elsewhere. Her living memorial is here in the city and state of her adoption. Here her children arise and call her blessed, children of other mothers but of her shaping, children warped by circumstance and rescued by her handwork, children yet unborn, yet to stumble, and yet to be given a rebirth of hope and competence. Thus passeth an exalted woman and radiant prophetess of a better day for the buffeted children of men.2
David Weakley, the man by her side for twenty-nine years in their mutual labor of love, also expressed his appreciation:
I think I know something of her matchless courage, her love for humanity, and the tact and wisdom which she so effectively used to overcome the many obstacles she so often encountered.
It is given to few people to possess so many characteristics of greatness as did Mrs. Johnston, not the least of which were faith and humility. A faith that transcended things of this world and reached into eternity. A queenly humility that gave her the common touch that inspired confidence and enabled her to influence the lives of people.
One of her greatest assets was the power of oratory. When she spoke people listened and were convinced, and her well modulated voice enabled her to play upon the emotions of her listeners like a master musician on a cathedral organ, but she never used this gift unless she felt it was for the glory of her God.3
Mrs. Elizabeth Johnston during the latter years of her fruitful life.
As pleased as Mrs. Johnston would have been by such acknowledgment, it was faint praise compared to that found in a letter from one of her boys before her death. Frank wrote:
You do not know how proud I am to be here. Just think, you are the mother of four hundred and fifty boys that we have here now. How wonderful it was of you to find such a beautiful place for a boy. Some of the boys would never had the opportunity on the outside that the boys here have. The boys here now and the ones in the past have classed you as their mother. Each and every one of us love you deep down in our hearts. When you talk to us on Sundays in Chapel, it makes me feel as though I owe something to you. Since you have been talking to us, I seem to be a changed boy. I certainly appreciate all that you have done for me and hope you will soon be back for we miss you.4
After Mrs. Johnston’s death, Colonel and Mrs. Weakley continued their work at the school for another fourteen years, announcing their retirement in 1948 to coincide with the school’s fiftieth anniversary. In his final report, the retiring superintendent was reflective:
As I view the past from a distance of forty-three years and remember the trials and starving period we went through, I realize more than ever that it required a lot of patience and determination to overcome the almost insurmountable barriers that beset our way. As I contemplate and look over the beautiful campus and view the modern buildings, and especially as I call to mind the many thousands of boys who have left the school and who have developed into honest, worthwhile citizens, I feel that whatever the price, whatever the disappointments, that the time spent in building this school has been a worthwhile job.
Mrs. Weakley and I are now retiring from the field of activity in which we have labored for half a century. We have made mistakes, and we realize that neither sorrow nor prayer can efface these mistakes, and that regrets will not atone for them, but whatever our shortcomings, we should like for those who remember us to forget what is best forgotten, and to remember what is best remembered, and that we may be judged not for what we were, but for what we should liked to have been.5
Elizabeth Johnston and David and Katherine Weakley stand outside Little Mount Vernon, Mrs. Johnston’s retirement home on the ABIS campus.
Weakley had no reason to worry about how they would be judged. The two local newspapers heaped praise upon the couple for their decades of service. The Birmingham Post-Herald offered this opinion:
It is impossible to appraise accurately the contribution which Col. and Mrs. D. M. Weakley have made to their community and their country during the 43 years they have devoted to the ABIS. There is no yardstick by which one might measure the precious human values with which they have dealt. And yet we know, as do scores of friends who assembled at the school yesterday to pay tribute to these two fine people, that they have left their mark upon the lives of thousands of boys who have left the school to become responsible, upstanding citizens. We know that they have helped to build an institution which in years to come will continue to be an important influence in our state. They have been good and faithful servants, and to them all of us are deeply in debt.6
The Birmingham News added its own assessment:
The scene was Roebuck; the time 43 years ago. To a log cabin school only seven years old came a young couple from Tennessee where they had been teaching together in an industrial school in Nashville. Now they were to take over management of this Alabama institution, organized in 1898 after a public spirited woman, the late Mrs. R. D. Johnston, had obtained a $3,000 donation from the legislature.
The outlook must have been rather bleak, back in those early days with only the small log cabin, no trees or grass and just the barren land surrounding the school. But this did not daunt the young couple from Tennessee. They loved boys and knew how to get along with them, and must have been confident that they could make a success of their new work.
Sunday at the ABIS the people of this state will pay fitting tribute to the long and excellent service of that teacher and his wife when they honor Col. and Mrs. David M. Weakley in two special ceremonies at the school. As superintendent and matron, respectively, Col and Mrs. Weakley saw the humble cabin in which they started their work replaced by the present modern, efficient plant valued at $1,500,000.
They have seen the bare ground converted into smooth, tree-shaded lawns, the trees all planted by Mrs. Weakley, and they have seen their school develop into one of the foremost institutions of its kind in the South.
But the Weakleys have seen much more than these material things. They have watched, through the years, the progress of the boys who have come and gone, more than 7,000 of them, and have noted with pride the record many of them made in the outside world. The Weakleys don’t think of these boys as delinquents, but as maladjusted. And it has been their job to help these boys find themselves and make of themselves good citizens.
How well Colonel and Mrs. Weakley have succeeded in their efforts along that line is attested by the record of their former pupils and the esteem in which this beloved couple is held today throughout Alabama. Now, after 43 years in a real labor of love, the Weakleys are retiring from the school. But they will not be idle. They plan to travel and visit former pupils and Col. Weakley will write of his experiences as a teacher. It should make interesting reading. The News is happy today in joining with the people of this state in offering its felicitations to this devoted couple.”7
Regrettably, all of the plans the couple had for their retirement did not come to fruition. Mrs. Weakley died less than a year later.8 Colonel Weakley began compiling his thoughts for a book, but never finished. Thankfully, those papers remain and were used as source material throughout this book. It is not the book he intended, but hopefully it can help to bring some long overdue recognition to this couple and the school they loved.
Colonel Weakley himself enjoyed a long retirement and did in fact keep his promise to visit the school regularly. He passed away in July 1971 at age ninety-three.9
Colonel David Weakley served forty-three years as ABIS superintendent.
1 Boys’ Banner, “Mrs. R.D. Johnston, Lover of Humanity,” June, 1937.
2 ABIS reports, Thirty-Fifth Annual Report (Birmingham: Alabama Boys’ Industrial School, 1935), 13-14.
3 Avery, 111-112.
4 Weakley, 276.
5 ABIS reports, Forty-Eighth Annual Report, (Birmingham: Alabama Boys’ Industrial School, 1948), 22-23.
6 Birmingham Post-Herald, “Well Done,” October 11, 1948.
7 Birmingham News, “The Way of the Weakleys,” October 9, 1948.
8 Weakley, 268.
9 Boys’ Banner, “Col. Weakley, Supt. Emeritus, Passes,” August, 1971.