10
Chicago Defender—June 6, 1936
The Problem of Better Housing
By Robert R. Taylor
No single group has a greater stake in the benefits to be derived from a sound national housing program than the Negro. He will be one of the chief beneficiaries of a well-administered housing plan because of several obvious reasons:
First, the Negro is an underpaid worker and his wages are generally too low to warrant his paying a normal economic rent for housing. Second, most properties occupied by Negroes are owned by absentee landlords, whose sole interest is to extract the maximum revenue while offering minimum services and maintenance.
Third, racial discrimination forces Negroes to accept disgraceful housing facilities, which are almost always located in decaying or slum districts. Fourth, in bargaining for the use of property the Negro is denied advantages accruing from the application of the fundamental laws of demand and supply because of the restricted residential zone in which he is huddled . . .
Landon and Robert had parted ways a few years back on the housing issue. Robert believed that Negroes would be helped if more low-income housing projects were built. But Landon believed that low-income housing would increase the Negroes’ dependence on the government and stifle economic growth. However, Landon agreed with everything Robert had to say in his article. Especially the part about Negroes being denied their bargaining rights for better housing because their buying ability was restricted to certain residential zones. Homeownership outside of the Black Belt was the key to opening the community’s eyes to better days that were just on the horizon.
Landon was scheduled to meet with William Toliver in a few minutes. He had hoped the NAACP chief counsel, Charles H. Houston, would be meeting with him today. But Houston was knee deep in another board of education case like the one he’d just won in Baltimore with Thurgood Marshall. Landon understood what the primary interest of the NAACP were, however, he intended to do his very best to convince Attorney Toliver that decent housing for colored people in Chicago was just as much a civil rights issue.
There was a knock on his office door. Landon yelled, “Come in.”
Nettie opened the door, grinning from ear to ear. She skipped into the room with her hands behind her back. “So, how are you feeling on this most important day?”
“I’ve just been sitting here praying for God to open Mr. Toliver’s eyes so that he can see that we need their help.”
“I have faith in you, Pastor. You’ll convince him.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Landon said while pointing heavenward.
“Well, I guess we’ll soon see because Mr. Toliver is here. Are you ready for the meeting?”
“I pray that I am.”
“I’ll send him in,” she said as she began walking out of the office.
Landon picked some envelopes off his desk and handed them to Nettie. “Can you put these in the mail today?”
“Sure thing, boss.” She closed the door behind her.
Landon rubbed his hands together and lifted his head toward heaven. “Lord, You and You alone have seen me and my people through a mighty long list of injustices. Help us with this one as well.”
As Landon finished his request to his Lord and Savior, his door opened, and William Toliver walked in carrying a brown leather briefcase. Landon stood up and shook the man’s hand. “Thank you for coming to see about us, sir.”
“It’s my pleasure, Pastor Norstrom. The NAACP is very interested in the plight of colored people in Chicago. We have heard of your struggles and want to help. But we need to make it clear that our resources are still very thin.”
Landon understood what he was saying. Toliver was a southerner. And many southerners were still migrating to Chicago, believing that this was some sort of Promised Land for colored people. But Landon was going to show Toliver a land that Moses would have been ashamed to lead his people into. The Black Belt wasn’t flowing with milk and honey, but with trash and baby-killing debris.
Landon put on his hat and coat and said, “Let’s take a walk. I’d like to introduce you to a few people.” They stepped outside of the church onto State Street. The Black Belt consisted of about thirty blocks of small dilapidated houses. Young and old men hung out on porch steps or the corner grocer or they just walked aimlessly up and down the streets. Trash was piled high in front of most of the homes. Rats the size of cats could be seen nibbling on the trash as they walked down the street.
A rat scurried toward Toliver. The man jumped as the rodent passed by him to get to a pile of trash on the other side of the street. Toliver said, “Don’t you all have mandatory garbage collection requirements in Chicago?”
Landon smiled. He hadn’t even knocked on his first door and the man was already getting the picture. “They say their resources are limited, and we are last on their list. So we can go weeks without seeing a garbage truck.”
They turned the corner and walked past a few houses until they were standing in front of a one-story, single-family dwelling that had seen better days . . . much better days. “This is the home of Mr. and Mrs. James and Penny Flowers. They are allowing us to look through their home today because they believe it will help you folks at the NAACP see what’s really going on. But Mr. and Mrs. Flowers are proud people. They’ve worked hard for what they have, so try not to say anything against the home. Let’s just let them guide us through it and tell us what they need help with. Okay?”
“I’m not here to make snap judgments. I want to observe and take my finding back to the home office,” Toliver said with conviction.
“Well, okay then, let’s go.” Landon knocked on the door and then waited until it was opened. “Good day, Mrs. Flowers.” He gave the older woman a hug. “Thank you for your willingness to help with our cause.”
“It seems like everybody’s got some cause or another these days,” the old woman said as she stepped aside to allow Landon and William Toliver into her home. “But if you young folks wasn’t always on your soapbox, I reckon wouldn’t much get done.”
They took off their hats and stepped in. “God has blessed you with a right understanding, Mrs. Flowers. And we sure appreciate you,” Landon said. He then turned toward his guest and told Mrs. Flowers, “This is Mr. William Toliver. He’s an attorney with the NAACP.”
“Well ain’t we steppin’ in high cotton today. We got a pastor and a big time lawyer in our home. Would you gentlemen like a cold glass of water?”
“You’re very kind to offer, but I need to get Mr. Toliver through our neighborhood as quickly as possible. So, if you don’t mind. We’d just like to see the house and get going to the next.”
“All right, Pastor. Well let’s get started,” she said as she began to slowly move away from the door.
“Where is your husband?” Landon asked.
“Oh, James went down to the church to stand in the bread line. He hates doing it, but he lost that good factory job a month ago, and well,” she hunched her shoulders as she said, “we still got to eat.”
Landon put his hand on Mrs. Flowers’s shoulder. “My church has been putting together food baskets for displaced workers. I’ll make sure you get one of those packages this week.”
Her eyes got misty as she said, “Thank you, Pastor, we sure can use it.” As she began walking through the house, she added, “James and I have worked nearly ’bout all of our lives. We ain’t never asked nobody for nothing. But this here depression has hit us hard.”
“You’re not alone there, Mrs. Flowers. About fifty percent of the colored population lost their jobs due to this depression. But I believe that things are about to turn around. We’re only a few short years from 1940. Going into a new decade has to be a sign of things turning around for us,” Landon said with hope in his heart and conviction in his voice.
They walked through the house as Mrs. Flowers showed them holes in the floor as the floorboards had rotted out. There were buckets of water on the floor in the living room, kitchen, and both bedrooms. Mrs. Flowers said that the buckets were there to catch the rain from the leaking roof. There was another bucket underneath the sink. The pipes were leaking.
After stepping over buckets and holes in the floor, Toliver turned to Mrs. Flowers and asked, “How long have you lived here?”
“We were in a boardinghouse the first three years after we arrived in Chicago, but we’ve been in this house for two years come this spring.”
Toliver’s mouth hung open. When he regained his voice he said, “You’ve been in this house less than two years, and you have all these problems?”
“The previous tenants let me keep their buckets. The roof has been leaking for a while now, but the owner won’t fix it. But believe it or not, we’re the lucky ones.”
“Why would you say that?” Landon asked, wondering why anyone who’d been forced to live in such conditions would consider themselves lucky.
“We have running water and plumbing,” Mrs. Flowers told them matter-of-factly.
As they toured some of the other homes they discovered that it was exactly as Mrs. Flowers had said. Many of the residents of the Black Belt had no running water or plumbing. They were forced to do their business outside. After touring about five homes and viewing the conditions on the outside of the homes, Landon figured William Toliver had seen enough. “Let’s head back to my office.”
Once they were seated in Landon’s office, Toliver said, “Okay, I see that the conditions are bad. I’m used to seeing homes in such poor conditions in the South, but I honestly thought you all had it so much better.”
“Some of us do. There are homes in the Black Belt that are in good condition and well maintained, but those are few and far between. We have about eight or ten people per household and that’s fine for the citizens who can do no better. We’re not asking the government for a handout. What I want is to be able to get decent housing for families who will be able to afford the homes and maintain them.”
“And you’ve already tried this with one couple?”
“That’s correct. They are the reason I need help from the NAACP. The Barnes family has the perfect case to bring to trial. They are educated, with good jobs and money in the bank. They saved for years to be able to buy a home. They hoped that by the time they had enough money to purchase a home that things would be different and they wouldn’t be forced to buy a home in the already overcrowded Black Belt.”
“But the home owner refused to sell to them because they’re colored,” Toliver finished Landon’s statement for him.
“Yes. So, what do you think? Can you help us?”
Toliver leaned back in his seat and rubbed his chin as he pondered the situation. He then leaned forward and said, “I’ll tell you what. If you can get me at least ten cases like this, I might be able to convince Mr. Houston to go to trial.”
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Toliver, I’m just not sure if I can come up with ten eligible couples who have saved enough money to purchase a home.”
“There has to be nine other credit-worthy people in this town with good jobs. You’ll just have to find them.”
“And what if I can’t?” Landon asked as if he was Abraham pleading with God about his ability to find ten righteous people in Sodom and Gomorrah.
Toliver stood up and put his hat back on. “You have to. This place is still considered the Promised Land by most colored southerners. So, if I’m going to convince the NAACP to exhaust our resources on a Chicago case, we have to have ample proof of discrimination.”
Landon stood up and walked Toliver out. When they were at the front door of the church, Landon shook the man’s hand. “I thank you for your time. I hope to see you again real soon.”
“You get us some more qualified couples who’ve been refused housing outside of the Black Belt and we will go to bat for you.”
As Landon stood at the door watching Toliver walk away, his shoulders slumped with the knowledge that it would probably take him years to find nine more qualified colored people.
“What’s wrong with you? I thought the meeting was going good.” Nettie asked as she walked up behind him.
“He wants me to find several more qualified cases before we move to trial.”
“So, I ask again, what’s wrong?” Nettie didn’t understand why Landon seemed so dejected.
Landon had never discussed his personal life with Nettie and didn’t feel comfortable doing so now, but he really needed to unburden himself. He turned to her and said, “I had planned to leave town after my meeting with Mr. Toliver. I have a good friend who needs me. But now I feel as if I will be letting so many people down if I leave at a time when there is still so much to be done.”
“Well, we already have one couple. The Barnses are perfect. So, all we need to do is find a few more.”
“Nine more,” Landon corrected her.
“Okay, well then we’ll find nine more people interested in home ownership. That shouldn’t be too hard to do,” Nettie said with her normal eager-beaver attitude.
But Landon wasn’t catching her fever this time. He told her, “We’re in the middle of the worst depression this country has ever seen. It won’t be so easy to find nine gainfully employed colored people with enough money saved to purchase a home.” He rubbed his temples as he said more to himself than anyone else, “I really need to go see about Shar.”
Nettie put a hand on Landon’s shoulder. She gave him her best I’m-here-for-you smile as she said, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Pastor Landon, you simply can’t be all things to all people. Now we have babies dying at a higher rate on our side of town than any other part of this city because of the poor conditions they live in. We need to get as many people out of here as possible. Then once this area isn’t so crowded, we can get it cleaned up for the remaining residents.”
Landon knew Nettie was right. He had a duty to this community. What he was doing would save lives. He just felt so bad about letting Shar down. He knew she wanted to see him, but she would have to be content with receiving another letter from him for now. Landon was on a mission from God and couldn’t turn back now, not even for love. He just hoped that Shar would be patient with him.