Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Crazy About Airplanes: The Character of Charles Dryden, a Tuskegee Airman

Model airplanes dancing from strings. All types of planes adorning the ceiling of a young boy’s room. A boy crazy about flying growing up to become one of the first Tuskegee Airmen. “We knew he was going to do something with airplanes,” says Charles Dryden’s sister Pauline. “He was crazy about airplanes!”

And yet, during the years following his birth in 1920, barriers for Black people abounded. Segregation and discrimination were rampant. Jim Crow laws and customs permeated southern life, codifying segregation, and establishing separate railway cars, drinking fountains, and theatre seats. Klu Klux Klan membership was on the rise. Blacks couldn’t vote. Lynchings were legal and were often celebrated by Whites with partying. Blacks fled the south by the millions for Northern cities during the Great Migration, and then found themselves segregated into dangerous black ghettos, where they faced overpriced housing, exploitative landlords, and the practice of “last hired, first fired.” They fought back in riots that erupted around the country. How, in this discriminatory and tumultuous environment was Charles going to be able to make his dreams to fly a reality?

And yet he did. In fact, just before he died, President George Bush said, when honoring Charles and other Tuskegee Airmen with the Congressional Gold Medal, “The Tuskegee Airmen helped win a war and helped change our nation for the better. [Theirs] is the story of the human spirit, and it ends like all great stories do – with wisdom and lessons and hope for tomorrow.” Shirley Franklin, as Mayor of the City of Atlanta said they “helped pave the way for equality among African-American fighter pilots.” Charles and the rest of the Tuskegee Airmen played a major role in proving that African-Americans were not inferior to Whites in any way. They helped advance the cause of African-American successes and leadership in all areas of American life.

So, what was it that enabled this man to be accepted into the 2nd class of the Tuskegee Army Flying School and to become a member of the 99th Pursuit Squadron, the squadron that, during WWII, escorted bombers to their target locations and never lost a bomber to enemy fighters? What was it that enabled him to succeed in a segregated Army, to be part of a group whose success challenged segregation in the military and won desegregation in 1948, and to become a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Air Force? What was it that enabled him to succeed so exuberantly that he received the Congressional Gold Medal and was welcomed to address the New York State Legislature?

I asked his sister, Pauline, her thoughts about how her brother succeeded when so many other Black men were over-challenged by racism and failure. In her answer, she told the story of her parents emigrating to the United States from Jamaica as young adults. In Jamaica, she said, education and talent were rewarded, regardless of color of skin. And so her parents hadn’t been molded by a culture in which hundreds of years of slavery and oppression had demoralized an entire race, limiting their possibilities and laying waste to their self-esteem. In fact, Charles and Pauline and brother Denis hadn’t inherited the sense that they were “less than,” that they couldn’t achieve, or that their future was automatically limited by their skin color.

Charles said that his father, Charles Levy Tucker Dryden, and his mother, Violet Adina Dryden, held an “abiding faith in God and a dedication to educating their three children” that set him on the road to achieving his childhood dreams of becoming a pilot. The Drydens’ spirituality was clearly in evidence. Mom would have became a nun had Dad not returned in time from WWI to persuade her otherwise. And as family, they attended the Presbyterian Church. Pauline tells the story of a loving family who set their children up to succeed, telling them to “go for it” and follow their dreams. They faced difficulties with the mottos, “Nothing beats a trial but a failure” and “Not to worry, press on regardless.”

Both parents had also been educators and their close extended family – mom had five sisters living nearby on Sugar Hill in New York City -- set good examples for educational achievement. Indeed, the Dryden children excelled in school, were able to gain entrance to exclusive White schools, and pursued higher education. Pauline became a social worker after attending Hunter College and then pursued graduate school at Columbia University. Charles attended the Civilian Pilot Training Program at the City College of New York to obtain his pilot’s lesson. He spent the rest of this life pursuing educational opportunities and excellence, inside and outside of the military, earning degrees in political science from Hofstra University and public law from Columbia University. He was also awarded an honorary doctorate by Hoftstra.

And yet, despite these auspicious beginnings and ongoing accomplishments, Charles often found himself bitter about the racism that challenged his pursuits in the military. He and his colleagues were risking their lives for their country, succeeding in ways that White pilots had not succeeded, and yet, Black pilots were forced to live and eat and recreate in substandard facilities separate from those available to White servicemen. At one point he even faced court martial and dishonorable discharge. He had expected the military to be different from the rest of society, and it simply wasn’t. Even the Germans, during WWII, wondered why Blacks fought for a country that treated them so badly.

Charles overlooked his own pain at such humiliating treatment in order to be able to fly. And he excelled. But he didn’t stop there. He extended a hand to other Black men, demonstrating tremendous leadership, and inspiring others to succeed as he had. He served as a professor of air science at Howard University, leading the ROTC, and encouraging other young Black men who wanted to fly.

His is a story of overcoming massive obstacles to achieve incredible success, a success powered by faith in God, family encouragement, pursuit of education, determination, and love of flying. His is a story of sacrifice and risk that saved the lives of other American fighters and led many African American youth to success in their military careers. His story is not absent fear and failure and loss. And yet he overcame and led others to do the same. As he frequently recited from the poem High Flight by Pilot Officer Gillespie McGee, “I have slipped the surly bonds of earth. . . and done a hundred things you have not dreamed of. . . I’ve trod the high untrespassed sanctity of space; put out my hand and touched the face of God.”

Friday, February 24, 2012

The Most Segregated Hour in America

Black people, White people, Nigerians, gay men, lesbian couples, children, old people, couples and singles and families, Democrats and Republicans – that’s who you will see at Park Hill United Methodist Church on a Sunday morning. But, you might ask, “Isn’t 11 o’clock on Sunday morning the most segregated hour in America? Didn’t Park Hill get the memo?”

In fact, Park Hill UMC decided to listen to another memo, the one that said, “Jesus died for us all,” that “We are to love all people, even those who are different from us.” A pretty powerful memo, with pretty vivid illustrations, even if you don’t happen to celebrate your spirituality in a Christian way. And isn’t that message of unity and acceptance and hope refreshing in this era of political wrangling and financial fear?

The question is, how has Park Hill UMC managed to succeed where so many churches have failed? How did they desegregate their congregation and how have they kept “living” integration throughout the years when so many other churches-- even those churches right in Park Hill who also gave integration a shot -- remain bastions of segregated Whites or Blacks or Latinos? How has Park Hill UMC managed to break down the walls? To take power and privilege and entitlement to task on a regular basis in their search for God’s light and love?

Park Hill UMC’s journey toward desegregation did not begin as a result of community support or in a time of peace. It began at a point in history that was wracked with divisions and fears and questions and rebellions. The journey began during Dr. Carlton Babbs’ tenure as senior pastor (1955-1974) -- a time when Dr. Martin Luther King and his father preached at Park Hill, advocating for the rights of Black Americans, and when, on a much larger stage, Dr. King, Jr. gave his “I have a dream” speech. It was a time when Black children walked gauntlets lined with hating White people in their efforts to obtain a quality education. One of those children, Carlotta Walls (now Lanier) ultimately became a member of Park Hill UMC. It was also a time when America was fighting a war in Vietnam, and, in response, many people rioted and looted in protest here at home. It was the time when President Nixon resigned in the face of imminent impeachment following Watergate. And it was the time in Denver when buses were bombed and school board members were threatened in the face of court orders to desegregate schools. Perhaps the tumult reflected people’s refusal to accept the status quo. It certainly seems to have reflected a need for change.

Park Hill UMC decided to take seriously Martin Luther King’s words, “We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” Marilyn McGraw, Park Hill UMC’s first woman minister in the early 60’s, attributes some of Park Hill’s success at integration to the personality of Dr. Babbs, the minister from 1955 to 1974, who she described as a “benevolent dictator,” committed to doing the right thing and to pushing others to do the same, regardless of push back from his congregation.

The current pastor, John Thompson, agrees. Dr. Babbs, he says, caught the social justice bug early, and became determined that his church would desegregate. But he didn’t do it without planning and preparation. After inviting Black people to the church from the surrounding neighborhoods, he met individually with key White families in the church to prepare them to be welcoming. He preached sermons to prepare the congregation prior to the first Black family’s visit. And he hand-picked the first Black visitors, choosing the “crème of the crop, who were progressive, strong, and brilliant.”

Dr. Babbs was determined to do the right thing, even when, as a result of the new Black members, 1000 White members, one quarter of the church membership, left the church. His reputation took a hit, and he sustained emotional and physical costs. But he was willing to pay the price. His focus was on those members who stayed, and on those who were attracted to the church because of its social justice commitments. Clearly, sacrifice was necessary on many fronts.

But as Pastor John points out, in addition to Dr. Babb’s sacrifices and determination, “It was the right place, the right time, and for the right reasons.” Dr. Babb’s efforts mirrored other movements around the country and gave voice to passions that already existed. Church members “knew they were involved in something important” and committed to the birth of a new reality. As a result, important conversations emerged. People were forced to become good listeners, learning from others by really hearing them.

Soon integration and social justice became part of the DNA of the church, “part of who we are,” something that people worked at in an ongoing way. It was always treading on thin ice, always a struggle, and always required energy and effort. But members refused to submit to anger and fear, and committed to being proactive for what was human and righteous. “It is something that we can never take it for granted,” says Pastor John.

So, what is it that keeps the church integrated after all this time, long after other Park Hill churches have reverted to Whiteness? Pastor John points to the need for both Black and White leaders to grace the front of the church each Sunday and to be part of leadership boards and committees; to the need for the church to be intentional about integration, to include diverse music and forms of worship in the services. “We need to affirm people in the congregation who are not from the dominant culture. We need to live into what we proclaim,” he says.

Perhaps the answer to the question, “Didn’t Park Hill UMC get the memo?” is, “Why haven’t other churches gotten the memo?” Shouldn’t we all get this memo? Isn’t it a critical memo if we want our children to grow up in caring, responsible communities in which all people are treated fairly and are respected for who they are and what they have achieved, rather than for the color of their skin or how much money they have or who their parents are? Can we afford not to raise our children in integrated institutions when it is clear that we are becoming a global economy, and when many predict that the future will require all of us to interact and work well with people of different races and colors and ages and experiences? Isn’t this what Jesus communicated in the Story of the Good Samaritan, and what Paul communicated when ministering to the Gentiles (rather than to the Jews who were considered to be the “chosen race”)?

Let’s get this memo out to everyone we know. Let’s break down the barriers that divide us and celebrate what joins us together. Let’s be wise and caring in our debates and differences, preparing ourselves to hear one another and learn from one another – even if we don’t entirely agree. Let’s develop civility and caring for the “person” of the other, even if we can’t agree with all of their politics. Let’s develop interpersonal peace -- I believe that to be the foundation of a larger peace throughout the world.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Honor and Bravery and Truthfulness and Integrity. And did I say Honor?

Kevin Horrigan’s article in the February 2nd Denver Post, hits many nails on the head from my perspective. In response to the outrage about Francesco Schettino’s “cowardly” behavior in leaving his sinking cruise ship, he asks whether our outrage is justified, whether any of us would have behaved any differently. “In our imaginations,” he says, “we are all noble and brave. But honor and self-sacrifice are qualities far rarer than we’d like to think. Look around. People are copping pleas and making excuses all over the place.”

And isn’t he right? What is this about? Why are we so guilty of this? Where have we learned not to take responsibility, not to bear the consequences for our actions?

Granted, consequences are not fun! If I spill the milk (or the peas or the chocolate syrup or the hair dye), I have a mess to clean up. The rest of my family is not likely to take kindly to my just leaving the house and expecting them to clean it up! If I don’t make the car payment, the bank is likely to come and take my car, and probably won’t accept my excuses. And I am not going to be too happy about figuring out how to make do without a car. And, of course, there are behaviors with far more serious behaviors, like the Wall Street executives who caused the collapse of the world economy.

But is it any great surprise that these executives are not taking responsibility when we have accepted a society of excuses? When we so rarely hold ourselves responsible? Why can’t we take responsibility? Why can’t we say, “I blew it and I hate the result and I know I have to make it right and I will make it right?” Of course, we would rather not suffer the consequences. But what does it say about our society that we don’t tend to own up to our mistakes, realize that everyone makes mistakes, and become determined to rectify the problem and make amends? What does it say that we don’t feel justified in holding other people’s toes to the fire when they make mistakes, while still caring for them, helping them to make it right, and helping them to do better next time? What keeps us so fearful of telling the truth that no one can help us to do better, to learn, to improve, to avoid the big disasters?

Wouldn’t doing just that have created a different culture on Wall Street, one that would allow people to be honest earlier on, and stop the mistakes from escalating into an all out world crisis? It’s almost as though the message is that we are all supposed to be perfect, and if we aren’t, then we have to hide it so people won’t . . . won’t do what, realize that we aren’t perfect? Ask us to make things right? Ask us to take responsibility and be honorable? Are we really so loath to do that? Do we really think we are fooling people into thinking we are perfect? Do we really have so little self-esteem that if we don’t look perfect, we will be nothing?

Well, the mental health professionals have some answers for these questions – things related to poor self-esteem and problematic child raising and psychopathology and . . . . But perhaps the most important questions to ask are aspirational questions, questions about honesty and integrity and how we can become the best we can be. Questions like, “Really, you think that hiding or lying is going to get you to a better place? To a place that you want to be?” Or, “Do you think that no one else has ever made a mistake?” And, “Let’s talk it all out and together we will figure out where to go from here.”

And perhaps the most important answers to seek are to the questions, “How can we care about one another more aggressively so that we all know that there are people to stand with us even when we blow it?” “How can we talk openly so that we are walking the path together, helping one another out, catching one another when we fall, and helping each other get back on the path when we veer off track?” “How can we know the truth about one another so that we know how best to care and encourage and correct?” “How can we model openness in our endeavors to demonstrate good character so that people see us fail as well as succeed, and thus know that we believe each day is a journey, not the end point, and that no one reaches perfection, so any attempt to look perfect (whatever our definition of perfect) is a lie?”

“So, Francesco Schettino, you blew it big time. Time to invest incredible amounts of energy in restitution and accountability. Perhaps you can’t make it right – after all, people lost their lives, and we desperately hope that it wasn’t because you were doing something other than being the captain you were supposed to be. But regardless of the causes, own up to your failures. Tell the truth – people won’t necessarily like it, but they would rather have the truth than have you telling them lies. Accept the consequences you deserve. Spend the rest of your life trying to make up for this tragedy, giving of yourself voluntarily. Be a role model of contrition in both words and behavior. We need more of that in our world if we are to turn it around, if we are to get beyond excuses to responsibility, beyond law suits to healing. Won’t you give it a try? Perhaps if you take the lead, others will follow. And so on, and so on, and so on. . . .”