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Oral History Interview with Lewis Dowdy by William Chafe


Date: January 21, 1975

Interviewee: Lewis C. Dowdy

Biographical abstract: Dr. Lewis C. Dowdy joined the faculty of NC A&T State University in 1951 and served the school as president and chancellor from 1964 to 1980.

Interviewer: William Henry Chafe

Description:

This January 21, 1975, oral history interview conducted by William Chafe with Lewis Dowdy primarily covers Dowdy’s tenure at North Carolina A&T and membership in the Greensboro Chamber of Commerce in the sixties. Topics related to A&T include his recollection of the February 1960 sit-ins and the students' influences; being told it was better for black leaders in education not to become involved in Greensboro politics; Governor Luther Hodges’ visit to A&T and the students’ protest during his speech; president Ferdinand Bluford; the difficulty in supporting civil rights activism when dependent on state funding, and how it led most school leaders to little or discrete action.

Other topics include Dowdy's childhood and education near Eastover, South Carolina; his first impression of Greensboro; Dr. John Tarpley and the integration of Grimsley High School; Ed Zane and Hal Seiber; Dowdy's pioneering role in the Greensboro Chamber of Commerce; and pressure on the chamber from both sides.

Subjects:

Format of original: Oral History

Collection: William Henry Chafe Oral History Collection

Repository: Duke University

Item#: 4.23.636

Rights: It is responsibility of the user to follow the copyright law of the United States (Title 17, U.S. Code). Materials are not to be reproduced in published works without written consent, and any use should credit Civil Rights Greensboro and the appropriate repository.



Oral History Interview with Lewis Dowdy by William Chafe

Note: This transcript is an edited version of an original transcript for which no audio recording was available. Therefore, CRG cannot guarantee that this transcript is an exact representation of the interview.

William Chafe:

You came in 1951. Dr. Dowdy, where did you come from?

Lewis Dowdy:

I was supervising principal at Lindbergh, South Carolina, high school and junior high school combined. We had about thirty-two teachers there. And I had just completed my master's degree at Indiana University, Indiana State University, in Terre Haute, which is my wife's home. And I've always wanted to get into college teaching, so I sent some applications around. I came up this way and had an interview, and then when I went back, in about three weeks I got three telegrams at the same day offering me a job in Florida, Texas and here. I took the one here.

WC:

That's terrific. Where did you grow up? Did you grow up in North Carolina or—?

LD:

No, I grew up in South Carolina near Columbia, near the capital. In fact about eighteen miles away, so we did most of our shopping in the capital city and had access to the newspapers around, all of the cultural activities going on around, and so forth.

WC:

What did—what were your parents involved in?

LD:

My father was a farmer and his early years he spent as a carpenter, but he put those things up and started fulltime farming. In fact, he started out with a five hundred acre farm that his grandfather, I think—and he was too kind to his friends in signing notes and lost the whole thing and had to start back working. And [he] bought his first ten acres of land and came back up, and before he died he had over a thousand. There was seventeen in our family, ten boys and seven girls.

WC:

Wow.

LD:

Most of them had some college training, three of us who have doctorate degrees, and we have nephews who are in medicine and dentistry and what have you.

WC:

Had your parents had formal education, high school, college?

LD:

No, they did not. They did not have the opportunity really. For a fact, in the little town that I was in, we had to leave to go to Columbia to do our—to complete our high school. They went as far as ninth grade, and we had to go to Columbia to complete our work there. My father finished say seventh or eighth grade and mother likewise.

WC:

Had your folks been active in any kind of NAACP [National Association for the Advancement of Colored People] activities or—?

LD:

No, in a town like that there wasn't a chapter at all. But he was active as a so-called leader in the area. There were about six black families there. Someday I would like to write a book about it. In those days, when we thought that the black man was really held down—and he was, I guess—these six people on sizable a plantation [land?] and they sent their children to school, they had a commitment to that kind of thing. I know Mr. Collins, who lived down the road from us, sent his son to dental school and he finished dentistry, and that was back in the days when you just didn't see this kind of thing happening. I don't know of any other little town that had that many people.

Now he was in the Republican Party and permitted to vote in those days back then. I don't know how it happened, but they just took him in. There were about three that they permitted to vote. He voted every year. But they would get together and talk about things, and in their own way did some things that we are doing today. I guess at that time the magnitude of it was as great as the things are today in—that is, getting things done for the schools and for the children.

They had no buses at the time and we were able to get some put on, getting the school renovated, getting things changed. And also getting—roads weren't paved in that day, but in the black community they didn't want to keep the roads up, and it was done by a chain gang at the time, but they'd get together as a group and got that done. There were several things that were done. Young people today would probably laugh at these things, and perhaps a hundred years from now they will laugh.

WC:

Or maybe understand what was done.

LD:

Right.

WC:

Did you grow up with the sense of intimidation about the society you lived in, or did you have—what kind of sense did you have?

LD:

Well, I'll tell you, my brothers and I talk about this quite a bit and the average black person probably wouldn't understand what I'm talking about. He would probably get mad at me. When I was born in 1917, my father had 750 acres of land, and we never knew anything about intimidation because there were whites next to us who really had to borrow our implements for farming. They didn't have the money and this kind of thing. We always had plenty. And in fact, my brother and myself, the two last ones, we didn't have to work on the farm. We only did just small chores, but my other brothers really worked hard. But because of the fact that we were in this environment and my father enjoyed a very respectable place in a small town there, and also in Columbia with the lawyers and everybody else because of his so-called wealth, we had no problems. In fact, I will have to say this, the first white man I worked for was when I got to be principal of a school. And I think that makes a big difference if you start working early and you are intimidated and all that sort of thing gets—

WC:

Sort of like the Richard Wright story.

LD:

Right.

WC:

When you came to Greensboro, I wonder if you can recall when you went—back to the time where you were supervising principal, can you recall what you told your family about your impressions of Greensboro?

LD:

Well, I always wanted to come to North Carolina to work, because I worked one year as a teacher after I finished school in 1939, and then I went to Atlantic City and worked in the summer to help pay for my car and keep things going. A friend of mine who graduated along with me had been talking about starting an insurance company, and he got a job with North Carolina Mutual in Goldsboro, and then he talked to the man and got a job for me, so I came back and instead of going into teaching, I went there. So I worked for the North Carolina Mutual Life Insurance Company two years, and I visited Greensboro and Durham during the time and I liked in this area. So then when the teaching salaries went up, I went back to South Carolina and took a teaching job.

And when I got my master's degree we made applications up here, and I brought my family with me so that they could see it and so forth. I was not offered a job but we interviewed in Winston-Salem, in Charlotte, and Salisbury and here. And we liked the area, and we didn't have a great feel about how the people, you know, race relations were at that time.

Then when I was offered a job, I came up and got an opportunity to find out what was going on, and there was quite a change and difference. Back in Winnsboro [South Carolina] you couldn't build a house because property—subject to being dismissed, you know, the kind of house we wanted. But when I got here, I saw that some black people had nice homes; not as many as they have today but they were able to borrow from the banks and build homes. And they were well accepted downtown in all of the stores. There wasn't some of these small things happening like waiting on you after I talk to the white customer who has finished his or her shopping, but they are standing up talking just because you want to be waited on. It appeared to be, in a small town like Winnsboro, that's what they would do. But here it seems to me that it was a different atmosphere altogether. And my family felt good about coming. But the normal thing that happens with children—say five and six, I believe it was—they had made their friends and all and they didn't want to leave. So I had an idea that this was an ideal place.

WC:

How long did that idea—has that idea remained—I guess my question would be the word ideal?

LD:

Well, you see, what to an individual is his idea of an ideal doesn't stay the same; it increases as his experiences increases. For instance, my wife and I keep a little book at home now, and the house that we wanted when we first got married looks like nothing to us today. So your ideals change. So I would have to say that I have more for Greensboro than we've gotten, and it could be because I have been exposed to more yearning and hope has been heightened by exposure to other places and so forth. I'm pretty satisfied with what's going on in housing and race relations, but there are some openings that I think ought to take place, the private clubs and that type of thing where it really gives you an edge on others. We had been committed to those. They just now established a city club downtown, but they did invite blacks. They do have blacks as members of the city club downtown, but not the country clubs.

WC:

I must tell you, at one point earlier on I interviewed someone from the chamber of commerce who is still with the chamber of commerce, Bill Little, and he took me out to the Greensboro Country Club for lunch. And he was telling me about how fantastic race relations were in Greensboro at a time when it was very clear from my sitting there in the Greensboro Country Club that this was a segregated country club and I just—I don't think he was aware of—

LD:

That's what happens, you see, because of the past and all the really—their eyes are not open in some sense.

WC:

Would you say that when you came to Greensboro that there was a tradition of protest organizations here? Did you have a sense of an activist community which was moving ahead with protest activities? Did you notice that when you came or—?

LD:

On a small scale. They have the Citizens Committee [sic, Greensboro Citizens Association], but the Citizens Committee dealt with trying to get a black elected to city council and trying to get streets paved in the area, lights put up, playgrounds, and things like that. Now that lasted until after 1954 when they started with the golf courses and things of that nature, but I would say it was dealing with the small things when I came to the city. We did get a person elected, one of the medical doctors, to city council, and actually that was a big thing as far as we were concerned at that time, but that was all, not any protest movements.

Of course, later on the protest, silent protests came about, but it came about, I think—talking about only from the experience that I have from the young people—and I would say what was sporadic thing. It doesn't seem like it was that [unclear]. At the time, four or five years, all of a sudden boys, or four boys just—they came back from a meeting of NAACP and CORE [Congress Of Racial Equality] and some others, New York or someplace it was, and they figured that these people weren't going to do it. They decided to go down and sit-in. I never did get to talk with them, because later I wanted to try to do something about that kind of thing. We've had somebody to write on the sit-ins, but I don't think it covers why these guys did this.

WC:

No.

LD:

From the standpoint of family background, what happened, what role made this do this, what was the motive for it? It was 1959, I believe, or was it '60?

WC:

February '60.

LD:

Yes.

WC:

I think that that's a very important part. Those are some of the questions that I am interested in getting into. I've talked to someone about that, and I do think that you can't just write about what happens in ten days; you got to write about the ten years that leads up to what happens in ten days.

LD:

I get the impression that these fellows had been in some sessions where NAACP lawyers might have talked variety stores and what would happen if you sat in. Because at the time they would sell you Vaseline over the counter with no protest, no reservation what so ever, but when you went over to the eating counter, they wouldn't sell you at all. So they picked this as a first front of attack, because you had a legitimate reason for complaint, because here is a man selling you one thing on one side of the store and on the other side he will not serve you, unlike some of the rest of them who wouldn't admit you at all.

WC:

Right. Did you have much contact in the fifties with people like Dr. [William] Hampton and Dr. [John] Tarpley?

LD:

Not a whole lot. I worked with Dr. Tarpley quite a bit because I was doing practice teaching. I placed a lot of students over there, had to go over there and visit them, that sort of thing. Dr. Hampton, I only met him in some of our Citizens Association meetings and so forth and heard him talk. I wasn't close to him.

WC:

Dr. Tarpley obviously had a very difficult kind of role. I haven't talked to him yet, but I do hope to. Did you ever have conversations with him about his perception of what was going on in the schools, and particularly in relation to the school board on the desegregation question?

LD:

No, I have not. I really have not. The—Dr. Tarpley retired then. Actually I'm trying to think whether he retired before integration. I think he did.

WC:

He retired in '67?

LD:

Yes. I think he retired before that.

WC:

Before that?

LD:

Well, you see, integration came right after '54 here in that people were free to go to school where they wanted to, but if you could stand everything. Because we had a girl [Josephine Boyd] to go to Grimsley [High School—then Senior High School] and caught all kinds of flack and so forth until she graduated. And I think there were only two high schools, Grimsely and Dudley, that were all senior high schools. Dudley was not considered high school, but it was a high school. But Dr. Tarpley for a while was considered the supervisor of black education in the city, and what happened between Dr. Tarpley and—who was the superintendent at that time?

WC:

Ben Smith.

LD:

Ben Smith, I really don't know. Ben Smith had a terrible time. But his [unclear] was on the right side.

WC:

Did you talk to him much?

LD:

No, I didn't know him very well.

WC:

I've just been going through his papers.

LD:

[unclear]

WC:

Interesting papers. I wonder if you could characterize—I realize this is a difficult question—but characterize the attitudes and politics of A&T in the fifties when you came here?

LD:

Well, when I came here in the fifties, what I picked up as an instructor was that don't be too aggressive in city politics and that kind of thing—nobody from A&T ran for county or municipal office here—and that you could make it here if you didn't just go too fast. Fact is they told me not to buy a house, but I bought a house within eight months after I got here. Still here. Dr. [Ferdinand] Bluford was president at that time. What you get as an instructor [and] what is really true from the standpoint of the president may be two different things. And I would not say that what they told me was true as far as Dr. Bluford was concerned. It would be interesting to do some background work on Dr. Bluford, to find out his thoughts, because in those days it's a pretty rough thing—I don't guess you could write about until you can get yourself in it—but how you play that game between the two and still live and come out.

WC:

Does he have papers here or anything?

LD:

I would have to check. We have a room in the library dedicated to him, but we had to use it for an office for the [unclear] curator. He still has some things down there. I'm pretty sure we have some things.

WC:

I heard an interesting story at one point which is, I think, speaks directly to the point you just made. I heard it from Randolph Blackwell, who ran for state legislature here in the late forties when Dr. Bluford was president, and was running really on a program which was not exactly conducive to his being well accepted in the community, and even in the A&T community, because he was in some ways endangering the college by his militant posture at that point. He was a student. I guess he was ready to—he thought at any minute he was going to get expelled. And he was putting signs up on campus and things like that, and one day he was talking to a gathering of people and Dr. Bluford came by and said, “Blackwell, I want to see you in my office.”

And he said, “Well, now the moment has come that I am going to get kicked out of here.”

Dr. Bluford brought him into the office and said, “Mr. Blackwell, if you need to use any of the facilities of the college or the university, please, I hope you will do so. Just don't indicate that, at any point, that you have my permission to use them, because I will deny that completely, and I will do what I have to do in order to disassociate myself from them. But I want you to know that you should feel free to do that.”

That's probably a typical story, but I wondered if there are similar kinds of episodes that you have heard about with Dr. Bluford which might—?

LD:

No, I haven't. That's about the way a black administrator had to do in those days, even a black principal.

WC:

Yes.

LD:

Because what they wanted to do was cut the leader out, whatever the leader was, cut him out. So you had to be very careful. I imagine that was true. I can't think of—

WC:

Were you here the day that Governor [Luther] Hodges came?

LD:

Yes, I was in the auditorium.

WC:

Can you just tell me a little bit about that?

LD:

Well, we knew that Governor Hodges was coming, the students knew. And I believe somebody tried—I was [unclear] enough to do anything about it. But I understand some people went to Dr. Bluford to try to persuade him not—to ask him not to come. Well, how in the world are you going to ask the governor not to come? In those days, you see, a black administrator just couldn't do that. So when the gathering assembled in the auditorium, the governor came and everybody stood up. We had—all males were required to take ROTC [Reserve Officer Training Corps]—they had an army—so they were packed in. And when the governor got to the door, the colonel [unclear]—one's in charge of one unit, one's in charge of the other. I don't know which one it was—and he gave his orders and everybody stood up like that. Well, you see, we had something like over seven hundred cadets and they were used to this thing, and they stood up just like that and I think that impressed the [governor?] too.

So he walked on down and got on stage, and then he was introduced. And it did all right for a while and then he started pronouncing the word Negro, “nigra,” and the kids took that for a while, and then it seemed that they couldn't take it anymore. So they all of a sudden, it seems, together in unison, to clear their voices, you know, I mean in loud voices [makes the noise] and then he went on. And then after a while he came back with the same thing again, and they stamped their feet together in unison. At that point, Governor Hodges looked around and asked Dr. Bluford, “Shall I continue?” And I think Dr. Bluford said, “As you wish,” somebody said he said. So he turned around and completed his speech and left.

And then the newspaper's story, good gracious alive, they said they booed the governor. But it was not normal booing kind of thing. It was a disturbance, I guess, a protest against his pronunciation of the word Negro. And, of course, shortly after that Dr. Bluford had a heart attack.

I guess all of the work came down on him. At that time he was trying to get several million dollars for buildings here; he got it. This was a very sensitive, serious thing. He was working to try to get something for his people so that they could get an education, because they couldn't go anywhere else but a black school at that time. And what do you do? You can fight to get freedom and you can protest and that kind of thing, but how do you get the things that you need? So I think that was heavily on his mind.

WC:

And he probably just collapsed from the burden of it, in some ways.

LD:

Oh yes, that was it.

WC:

I had heard it said by some people at A&T that he discouraged faculty from protest activities and wanted people to fall in line behind him. Do you think that was true?

LD:

I don't know, but I could see clearly that would be one of the things that he would almost have to do if he wanted to build this school and get the kinds of things he wanted. Because in those days, the leader of the state would use any of those things like that to cut you off, cut the funds off. I don't know readily now, but I could get the amount of money and the number of buildings that he built while he was here, a tremendous number of buildings. It was during the [R. Kerr] Scott administration that really things started moving pretty rapidly. And he was trying to get in with Governor Hodges so we could get another big plug. And what he would—you know that you ought to protest for freedom and for things that you don't have, but what is the larger value? You put the larger value on what priority? If I never become educated and so forth, and I guess it's in a man's goal. He may be agitated about this. I know I did. It's a strained kind of thing.

WC:

Did you have much acquaintance with Reverend [Edwin] Edmonds when he was here at Bennett [College]?

LD:

Not a whole lot, but I knew him and I was in some meetings with him, heard him speak and so forth.

WC:

Did he make a big difference to the adult—the protest movement in Greensboro, do you think?

LD:

Oh yes, he was quite a protestor in those times. Though they would call him a radical, and he didn't have the following that it took to make him a Jesse Jackson, but I think there was the budding of protest coming out of certain things. The fact—

[End Tape 1 Side A—Begin Tape 1, Side B]

LD:

—money in the Greensboro area [unclear] as well as national. But the money here helped to quite a bit, too. And then the thing that disturbed that, you just had to suffer for a while.

WC:

That's interesting. I've heard the argument heard both ways: that Bennett in some ways is freer than A&T because it is private and it doesn't depend upon the state legislature, and on the other hand it does depend on—it cuts both ways, I guess, and that the pressures are there in any case.

LD:

We had more protests here than they did.

WC:

Yes, right. Have you had any of the sit-ins people in your own classes?

LD:

I don't think so. I don't believe any of those people registered in my program. I had practice teaching and I taught adolescent psychology then, too. But there was one in chemistry and one in engineering, and [Ezell] Blair [Jr.—now Jibreel Khazan] was in a non-teaching program, so he wouldn't take a course with me. The other one was business administration, and he wouldn't take a course under me.

WC:

And they were all freshmen, weren't they?

LD:

Right.

WC:

When that happened, did they sort of—were you part of any of the meetings that took place after the sit-ins began, after the first day?

LD:

Oh, yes, sure. We called a college-wide meeting, had everybody in the gymnasium and discussed the whole thing and talked about it. And Mr. [William] Gamble was quite a part of that on our faculty; he was the director of admissions. He was much closer to it than I was at the time. But they told what they were doing, and they told us that they were going to keep it peaceful and it was going to be nonviolent demonstrations. All they were doing were sitting at the counters trying to get something to eat, and that was when they got all of the students behind them.

WC:

Was one of those four the leader, or was it pretty much a collective kind of—?

LD:

I think that Blair was the spokesman. Blair was the spokesman for the group as far as leader was concerned. I don't know who it was that said, “Let's go uptown Monday.” But in the meetings that I attended, Blair was the spokesman.

WC:

So things must have changed pretty rapidly at that point in terms—or did they, in terms of student body—and was there a rapid increase in protest activities?

LD:

No, that was the only protest activity we had going and they just rallied around that particular one. Because I went downtown one Saturday, I'm telling you could cut the tensions with a knife in the air, because you had ducktails down there and our whole football team to take care of anything that might happen, and we must have had—I'm sure there were fifteen hundred to two thousand kids out there.

WC:

What was sense of the role that Ed Zane played?

LD:

I don't know him well enough. I think I was at one meeting at the Y[MCA—Young Men's Christian Association] where he called some people together. Mrs. [Willa] Player [president of Bennett] was [unclear] and she was protesting about how they were treating—and I think what Ed Zane did was to try to get the people together. I don't know who practiced or how it happened, but whoever brought the people together to get the understanding that it's better for us to go ahead and sell hotdogs or hamburgers and a cup of coffee than to tear up our town. When that happened, I don't know.

WC:

There are a lot of people who claim credit for having done that. I've got a list of a thousand. [laughter]

LD:

Right. I know it.

WC:

It's refreshing to hear how so much about who it might have been. At what point did you join the chamber of commerce?

LD:

Oh, I would have to get my records on that. I must have been president in '64. I don't think I served [unclear] so it must have been after '64.

WC:

Were you the first black to join the chamber?

LD:

Yes. I was the first black to be appointed to the chamber board. See, the president of the chamber is allowed so many appointments at-large. I was also the first black to be elected, and that was difficult, but I was the first black to be elected from the full city.

WC:

And when was that?

LD:

That was two years ago. I just finished my two-year term. And I think I was the first black in the southeast to be permitted to the Rotary Club. They didn't want any publicity on it at all, so we didn't get any publicity at all.

WC:

When was that?

LD:

Oh my land, I can't remember. That must have been in '67. I spoke to them twice and they called me to speak, and the second time I spoke they put my name in, and I don't know what I did the second time.

WC:

Were you the only black for quite a while in the chamber or—?

LD:

Yes, only one for a while.

WC:

So the membership drive which really involved the expansion of the black membership didn't really come until '67 or '68, is that true?

LD:

I'm not sure about that. I know I was the first one on the board, and I said to one or two of them, “I'm going to get off the board if you don't get some more blacks in here.” I don't know whether that did it or not. I didn't want to serve again because there were qualified people who could serve.

WC:

What's your sense of that? What was your sense at that time of division of the chamber leadership and of its commitment to substantive as opposed to superficial action?

LD:

Well—

WC:

And if you want this can be off the record.

LD:

Well, let me say off the record first—

[Off-the-record comments redacted]

WC:

Can you give me an example of that kind of thing when you all would get together that late at night, and the kinds of things you—?

LD:

Well, say students were going up to protest against something, and Hal [Sieber, public relations director of the chamber] would come over and say the city was going to give them a permit to march. And Hal would talk with us of what we were going to get done and so forth, and eventually we would get the permit. We would talk about nonviolence and that kind of thing. And it would come off without any incidence what so ever. Otherwise if you had nobody on the other side to talk to us and to see that he was trying to help us—and when I say us, I mean the students. It could have been [unclear]. They could have knocked windows out; all kinds of things could have happened.

Then I'm trying to recall some other things. Say the student government here maybe got in a fracas—not the student government, but some of the students here with the police department, and there might have been some rock throwing at cars and so forth. Well, Hal would come over and we would talk about the subject of the thing. “What is it that you want?” Then he would go back and try to get that done. And instead of trying to prevent the rock throwing, we went straight at what they wanted to throw rocks for, you see. And he was able to get that partially, and sometimes wholly, and so forth. Or get a meeting of two groups, and a lot of times nothing came out of that.

Say [there was] a Martin Luther King kind of thing and they wanted to march for that, [his] birthday or something like that. And at times, you see, what happened is that this thing, backward and forward—and I think being on the chamber I found out what happened. While there were liberal-minded people on the chamber's board, there were people outside who were giving them hell because they thought that they were giving in to the black people and all this kind of thing, and so they were. On the other hand, black people were giving them hell because they wouldn't move. That's what it was right there. And who could exert more pressure? Some members of the board really wanted to put blacks [unclear] from the standpoint of humanity, but—.

Bill Little has resigned, you know.

WC:

He did? When?

LD:

About two days ago.

WC:

No kidding.

LD:

Actually, I was wondering what's happened.

WC:

For what reason do you think he resigned?

LD:

He said personal reasons, but he has been a great help to us, too.

WC:

Yeah, that's interesting. Are there a couple of people—I don't want to ask you to name negative names—positive names of people who you think were outstanding in addition to, say, Hal Sieber on the board of the chamber, who you think really stand out for their commitment and—?

LD:

What I would like to do is check that, because I wouldn't like to name a person without naming [Ellis?], who fell in the group, too. It would be unfair to him, and I know there were more than one. I'm trying to think who was president the year I was appointed. I would have to get him, because I think that he did this without the full complement of support.

WC:

[unclear]?

LD:

Yeah. Well now he was, I thought, an excellent man, but I hate to praise him and not praise some of the others on the board that I got to know very well—

WC:

Sure, sure.

LD:

—who were for these things. And you had to have some support from the board. And then after that, I was given the Greensboro Citizen of the Year Award, that came I think in '66 or '67. I believe that was the first time it was ever awarded to a black. I'm trying to think who was president during that time. It may have been [unclear]. I believe it was.

WC:

Yeah, there was a group of people later who came in after each other who seem to have been complimenting each other. Al Lineberry came in at some point.

LD:

He's great.

WC:

That was later on.

LD:

That guy is just tremendous. Well he—first place I think he is a Christian, and when I say it like that, I don't mean any harm in terms of religious beliefs, but I think he has a warm heart about—

WC:

Yeah, I talked to him and I get that impression that he was deeply devout person. I think probably I've taken up a good deal of your time this morning and—

[End of Interview]