Progress in Race Relations

Like most Americans, I am extremely proud of our country for electing its first black President.    Although I disagree with Barak Obama on many issues, I am proud of him for breaking through a major barrier, and I am proud of the country for taking its biggest step so far toward achieving the goal of true racial equality. 

During my lifetime, I have witnessed unbelievable change and progress in the relations between white and black Americans.    I was born in 1945 exactly 13 days before the death of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt.   (I cried for days following Roosevelt’s death.)  

I grew up in a small town in Kentucky and attended segregated schools until the late 1950s.    The black citizens in my hometown lived on the other side of the railroad tracks in a section that both blacks and whites referred to as “colored town.”     There were at least four restrooms in the city hall, the county courthouse, and other public places—one for white men, one for “colored men,” one for white women, and one for “colored women.”     There were separate water fountains for white people and “colored” people.   The only movie theatre in town required whites to sit downstairs and blacks to sit in the balcony.   Whites and blacks seemed to get along well, but there was no social interaction between the races.   Although there were no outward signs of conflict, I am sure blacks must have felt extreme resentment and humiliation as a result of the discrimination they faced on a daily basis. 

Things begin to change in the late 1950s and early 1960s.   The schools were integrated, and whites and blacks played together on the same sports teams for the first time.    The town’s neighborhoods, however, remained segregated, and there was still little, if any, social interaction between the races. 

My parents had some racial prejudices, which was fairly common among white people in their generation.   But the “n” word was never used in my home, and I was taught never to make derogatory comments about black people.    My father was a small-town lawyer. He spent a considerable amount of time providing free legal services to poor people, both black and white.   He thought it was his personal and professional responsibility to help people who needed help, regardless of their race, and without the need to be paid for doing so.  

My paternal grandfather was a doctor in my hometown.  He treated everyone who walked through the door of his office without regard to his or her ability to pay.    My grandfather was frequently called to the country or to “colored town” in the middle of the night to deliver a baby.   He always answered the call even when he knew he would not be paid for doing so, except maybe receiving a chicken or some vegetables in appreciation.  When I was growing up, a black person would frequently approach me on the street and say, “your granddaddy delivered my baby” or “your granddaddy brought me into this world.”   I was always very proud to hear these comments. 

It was a different time.   My father provided free legal services to the poor, both black and white, long before Congress started spending taxpayer dollars to pay lawyers to provide legal services to the poor.   My grandfather provided health care to the poor, both black and white, long before the government started paying doctors under the Medicaid and Medicare programs as it does today.   My parents and grandparents lived modestly and did not seem to be obsessed with accumulating wealth or material possessions.  They had lived through the Great Depression, and their idea of a good life was having food to eat and a roof over their heads. 

My years in high school and college coincided with the peak period of the Civil Rights Movement.    I never marched in the streets or participated in protests, but I supported the goals of the Civil Rights Movement.   During my junior and senior years in college, I was Editor-in-Chief of The Kentucky Kernel, the daily student newspaper at the University of Kentucky.  I wrote numerous editorials supporting civil rights legislation and calling for an end to discrimination against black people.   When I graduated from the University of Kentucky in 1967, there were black players on the football team, but the basketball team still consisted solely of white players.         

I had been married for approximately nine months and was working in Washington, D.C. when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968.   I was still at work in my downtown office when I heard the news of the assassination.   My wife called me and told me to leave for home because riots were breaking out in Washington and other cities.   I had to drive through the streets of Washington to get to our apartment in suburban Maryland.    I drove down streets where buildings were burning on both sides of the street and where black people were throwing bricks through store windows and at passing cars.    I don’t think I have ever been as scared before or since. 

I enrolled in Vanderbilt University’s School of Law in August of 1968.    My entering law school class included one black man and five white women.    The rest of the students were white men.    The black man and three of the women graduated with my class.   The black man was respected by his classmates and went on to become a partner in a well-respected Atlanta law firm.  He has had a very distinguished legal career and, among other things, has served on several corporate boards and as a member of the Board of Trustees of Vanderbilt University. 

After graduating from Vanderbilt Law School, I joined one of the largest law firms in Atlanta as an associate.  There were no women partners and no black partners when I joined the firm.   One of the young lawyers who joined the firm with me, however, was a black man who had graduated from Columbia University and Harvard Law School.   He stayed with the firm for only a few years, but during those years he was one of my best friends.   I ate lunch with him several times a week, and he was a frequent guest in my home.  Unlike me, he was not married, but he was a good host when I visited his home.   I even got to know his grandmother and aunt, who were great cooks, and my wife and I enjoyed some great comfort food in their home.   By this time, I believe any racial prejudices that had rubbed off on me during my childhood were gone. 

After I became a partner in my law firm, a black woman who was a newly hired associate in the firm was assigned to work with me on several projects.  The same woman, Leah Sears, is now the Chief Justice of the Georgia Supreme Court and has been mentioned as one of Barak Obama’s possible nominees to the United States Supreme Court.   Needless to say, I am very proud of Chief Justice Sears and my brief working relationship with her. 

During the last several decades, black people who obtained a good education and were willing to work hard have enjoyed opportunities that their parents could not even have imagined.    Blacks have served at the top levels in almost every profession.    Several of the nation’s largest companies, including Time Warner, American Express, and Merrill Lynch, have been led by Chief Executive Officers who were black.    In government, qualified black people have served in almost every capacity except President of the United States. 

Prior to the election of Barak Obama as our next President, the Office of Secretary of State was the highest and most important office in the federal government to be occupied by a black person.  During the last eight years, a black man, Colin Powell, and a black woman, Condoleezza Rice, have both served as Secretary of State.   In my opinion, the distinguished service of Powell and Rice helped pave the way for the election of our first black President.   When I see Powell or Rice on television, I do not see a black person.   I only see a loyal public servant trying to serve the country in the best way possible, and I feel completely comfortable with both of them.   I hope and think others feel the same way as I do.    Ironically, Powell and Rice were both appointed by President Bush.   

Obama’s election as our first black President is truly historic.   As a 63-year-old white male, I think this country has made remarkable progress in the area of race relations during my lifetime.    When I was growing into adulthood during the 1950s and 1960s, I could never have imagined that we would have a black President.   If I were a typical 63-year-old black person, however, I might recognize the progress but would probably feel with justification that the progress had come too slow and too late for me.  

I am sure some people, both black and white, voted for Obama because he was black, and there is no doubt that some people voted against Obama because he was black.   In light of our history as a country, I can understand a black person or a white person who was suffering from “white guilt” voting for Obama because he was black.  I could be wrong, but I think the large majority of people who voted against Obama did so because of his policies and political philosophy—not because of his race.   I look forward to the day when no one, black or white, will vote for or against a candidate for public office because of the color of his or her skin.   We are getting closer, but we are not there yet.