4A
NEWS
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THE UNIVERSITY DAILY KANSAN FRIDAY, DECEMBER 4, 2009
ACTIVISM (CONTINUED FROM 1A)
Photo courtesy of the Spencer Research Library
Members of the Civil Rights Council gather in front of Strong Hall to protest discrimination in student housing in March 1965. They wanted to make an appeal to Chancellor W. Clarke Wescoe to end racial exclusion in fraternities and sororites.
MEGAN HEACOCK/KANSAN
Verner Newman, Lawrenceresident_, looks over a booklet published by him and city leaders in the 1960s called "Being a Neighbor in Lawrence or How to be a Cool Cat", which was intended to encourage respect and tolerance for African Americans. As the only black police officer on the force during the 1960s and 1970s, Newman faced animosity from feller officers as well as from some black people who considered him to be a traitor.
Only a few blocks away at the Gaslight Tavern, another group has gathered. It's late at night, and they're breaking curfew; causing a ruckus. Wayne Propst, a Head Start teacher at the University, sits out on his front porch, watching the scene from across the street. Police arrive and threaten arrests. The crowd pushes further. Propst watches as the police level their guns into the crowd. Shots are fired and people scream. A 19-year-old is killed.
The blood of Harry Nicholas Rice stains the sidewalk where he was shot. Violence culminated in the spring and summer of 1970, when the Kansas Memorial Union was gutted by fire and two local activists, Rick "Tiger" Dowdell and Rice, were shot and killed by police.
Photo courtesy of the Spencer Research Librar
Lawrence, 2009. A couple of tables have been folded out in front of Wescoe Hall with students sitting politely behind them. Pamphlets, signing sheets and stickers litter the table. It's a quiet atmosphere, and while some people may stop and read the signs, it's still easy to ignore.
For those who lived through the tumultuous period of the 1660s and '70s, the calm that has settled over Lawrence is an uncharacteristic, if not welcomed, tranquility.
On a different corner of town, six or seven people line up in front of the Douglas County Court House to protest wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Every weekend, the "Honk for Hemp" guy stands obediently at 11th and Massachusetts streets.
In the '60s, Lawrence was a seething pit of protest, anger, hope and action. By the time 1970 rolled around, the city was boiling.
The University of Kansas earned a nickname for its clasles, the "Berkley of the Midwest," as a parallel to the University of California,
Berkeley's intense, emotionally charged activism in the '60s. That was 40 years ago. For the University and Berkeley, the scene has dramatically changed.
The calm of the town almost
'Activism ... If there was a draft, there would be."
suggests that civil rights, gender equality and peace have all been achieved, though this is debatable. People can agree that less violence is a good thing, but the question of what appears to be American apathy or contentment might be puzzling to the citizens of Lawrence, who hit the streets every time a controversial issue arose. It takes a glance into the past to understand the present. Seeing what fueled passions then might uncover what suppresses passion now, for better or worse.
DEATH AND DISSENT
WAYNE PROPST Lawrence resident
It's an overcast, chilly morning in Lawrence. The Bourgeois Pig, a local coffee house and bar, houses a half dozen people who are sipping brew, occupied with a newspaper or laptop. In the corner, however, four men surround a table, engaged in animated discussion. Wayne Propst leans forward, recounting a story of great proportion. The 'old cronies' are having a meeting.
"Activism," one of the men says, leaning back against the window. He ponders the word for a moment and says, "If there were a draft, there would be." Propst flips open a magazine and points to an old photograph depicting a group of people holding signs and shouting.
Propstwould know. Like many of his peers, he witnessed the protests and rallies of Lawrence 40 years ago. He said 1970, in particular, stuck out in his mind.
"See, that's the way activism used to be," he said.
The world had ushered in the new decade, and like much of America, Lawrence residents were unsure and fearful of what it would bring. The previous decade had been building to this year, accelerating at an alarming rate. The tension was acute and seethed in every neighborhood.
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On the night of July 20, Propst watched a group of 100 students and locals try to set a car on fire. After failing to calm the crowd, police opened fire, resulting in the death of a white college student,
Check out an audio slideshow of more photos in Lawrence during the 1960s and '70s on Kansan.com.
Harry Nicholas Rice.
just four days earlier, Lawrence Police Officer William Garrett shot and killed a black 19-year-old Lawrence resident, Rick "Tiger" Dowdell, in an alley. Rusty L. Monhillon, former KU student and assistant professor in history at Hood College in Maryland, described the events and emotions leading up to these deaths in his book, "This is America? The Sixties in Lawrence, KS." In the book, he said the culmination of both students' deaths led to a surge in arson, firebombs and a call to arms from white vigilantes and black militants.
Second only to Quantrill's Civil War Raid, the summer of '70 perhaps marked the darkest period in Lawrence's history, and fuelled a hatred so intense that most residents cried at its remembrance.
A MAN ALONE
Verner Newman, a 79-year-old life-long resident of northeast Kansas, was a first-hand witness to the conflicts and injustice suffered by black people. As the only black man on the Lawrence police force during the worst of the riots, Newman faced animosity and contempt from every corner of the city. Other police officers would often
He blamed the worst violence on out-of-town instigators who influenced locals — especially young teenagers — to follow their example. It took only a small number of leaders to stir up the crowd and convince them of justified violence. "Agitators," Newman called them.
refuse to work alongside him. A few of the black residents in the community considered him to be a traitor. Whenever one would ask how he could justify being a police officer, hed say, "Well, are you going to feed my family?"
"We had some bad people in Lawrence, but they weren't that bad," he said.
It wasn't that black people had nothing to be angry about. Although most of Lawrence was integrated by the 1970s, black people continued
Newman's position as a black police officer insulted a few black residents, especially as he became more established in the police force. Newman, who said he had originally been hired because his employer considered him to be from a "good of" colored family," was dedicated to improving his standing in the police department, gaining certifications for better positions. Still, for six years he remained a dispatcher, where they kept all black officers. He was finally promoted when a new police chief noticed Newman's qualifications.
to suffer from extreme racism and unofficial segregation from Lawrence residents and business owners, said Monhollon.
and Newman and the two other black officers in the police force at that time found themselves in a dangerous position.
Hostility from a few fellow cops and black residents grew stronger.
Newman's wife and two kids moved to his aunt's house in Topeka for safety. He said the other two officers left Kansas because they feared for their lives. Newman was left to fend for himself, and for two years, that's what he did.
It became a common evening ritual. He would sit on his front porch with a shotgun, rifle and pistol, as his German shepherd would guard the back door. He had positioned himself in a house with few trees so that he could see all the way around it. Newman said no police cars ever came by his house to see if he was OK. He was on his own.