Black history in DuPage County
February 28, 2007
By James Fuller Daily Herald Staff Writer
DuPage County is not exactly thought of as a hub for African-American life.
There are few black elected officials in the county’s history. There are a handful of churches with primarily black members. There are even fewer neighborhoods with mostly black households.
For those reasons and more, groups such as the DuPage County branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People continue to blaze trails toward equality while maintaining a social support network.
Yet even as the NAACP sees accomplishments in the local black population, it fights to remind that same population those victories didn’t come without struggle. Longtime residents say younger blacks are too quick to believe the obstacles are gone.
Only 50 years ago, many of DuPage County’s blacks considered themselves lucky just to find a local place to live.
Most blacks in DuPage County back then lived in Wheaton but were relegated to two areas of the city. One was near Hill Street where the original Second Baptist Church stood. The other was by the intersection of President and Washington streets. Together, they were known as “The Hill” and “The Bottom.”
It’s not that blacks didn’t want to live outside those neighborhoods. They couldn’t.
Real estate agents wouldn’t show homes, banks wouldn’t loan money and homeowners wouldn’t sell to blacks.
Stuck at ‘The Bottom’
Blacks needed a fair shot at local housing and access to DuPage County’s jobs. This became the initial mission of the NAACP when it formed a branch in Wheaton in 1953.
The branch initially consisted of many whites, primarily Wheaton College students.
A breakthrough in housing didn’t come until 1966, when Claude Audley and the rest of the NAACP branch submitted a fair housing ordinance to the Wheaton City Council.
“I made it very clear what I wanted and that was integrated housing,” said Audley, now 87. He said most of the council scoffed at the idea.
That’s when the branch took to the streets with the county’s first civil rights march.
“The council was really afraid that we were going to tear up the city,” Audley said.
Wheaton passed the ordinance in 1967. Other DuPage communities soon followed.
“This changed the housing pattern in the Western suburbs forever,” Audley said.
Life in DuPage County is different now. Many blacks say they feel much more accepted, though many also say instances of discrimination or prejudice continue to occur.
In 1987, when the Rev. Andre Allen arrived with his wife and children in Wheaton to become the new pastor at Second Baptist — the home for the local NAACP in its early years — he was struck by how family-friendly the city was.
But on the second day of the move, Allen found a racial epithet painted on his garage.
“It was kind of a frightening experience,” he said. He’s had no similar experiences since.
Many blacks active in DuPage County today say one of the big challenges now is overcoming complacency within the black community.
Mario Lambert, a second vice president in the branch and, at 30, one of the younger members, said there’s a generation gap. After the equality struggles of the 1950s and ’60s, a generation of blacks were sheltered.
“With my parents, it was a general shielding away, sort of (like), ‘We don’t even want you to deal with the struggle,’æ” he said. I’ve heard that from other people about my age, too.”
That engendered a sense of empowerment but also a sense the struggle is over. That sentiment plays out within the NAACP branch, creating a subtle divide.
Not Granny’s NAACP
At a recent meeting of the branch in Lisle, about 20 people attended, many of them seniors. There were almost no twentysomethings. The rest, including branch president the Rev. Theresa Dear, are a generation in between.
“We are in a critical transition period right now,” Dear said as the branch announced its new officers. “The NAACP today is not your grandmother’s NAACP. You have to do more than read the constitution and bylaws. You’ve got to be active.”
The concern for some of the “old guard” is that they still have a place in the organization. Being active in Zady Odom’s day meant picketing and standing on corners to collect money to get the branch going. Her husband, Nathaniel, was one of the branch’s founders. He died at age 85 in 2003.
These days, Odom, 81, of Glen Ellyn, said she’s only slightly involved in the NAACP.
“What can I do?” she said. “The DuPage branch, the way it’s set up now with all the professionals and how they go to all the corporate organizations that support them, they’re not bothered with the way we had to do things.
“There’s nothing for a person on a lower level to go out and do,” she said. “Years ago, we were so small we could not go to places like Nicor Gas and get funding. They have people who do that now, and they get recognized. It’s just not the same, but it’s OK.”
Odom has seen the generation gap within her own family. Her oldest son is in his 40s and is just now taking an interest in local black history, she said.
“When the branch was organized in Wheaton years ago, it was bombarded with young black people who are now old black people,” she said. “Now most of our young people, when Black History Month comes along, they actually try to ignore it. Some of them, like my son, are just now beginning to recognize that they missed out on something along the way, part of their heritage.”
That reality makes some senior members a bit skeptical about the future.
Olivia Garth was president of the branch from 1987 to 1988. She fears a day when the DuPage NAACP exists “only on paper.”
“Too many people think everybody has arrived,” Garth said. “They think, ‘I don’t have to worry about Mr. Charlie doing anything to me. What do I need the NAACP for?’ People think it’s all equal today. It’s just more subtle.”
Squaring past, future
“Things have got to change, but don’t throw away the foundation,” Garth said. “Membership isn’t just for status. It’s not just, ‘Oh, I’ve got a card.’æ”
Others see the future of the group in the youth chapters being established at the College of DuPage, Benedictine University and Elmhurst College. The bridge to them may be people like branch vice president Lambert.
Lambert is quick to burden himself with multiple tasks and willing to make tough decisions on his own when needed.
At the same recent meeting, when Dear renewed the call for active participation, she singled Lambert out as a big part of the future of the NAACP.
“One day, when I leave this office, my prayer is that this man will lead this organization,” Dear said.
The president is elected by the membership. Until recently, Lambert was in charge of membership, a key role for ascension.
“If that was part of God’s plan, and the people believed in my ability, I would love to do it,” Lambert said.
As one of the younger members of the branch, Lambert sees the future as reaching out to younger members, but not abandoning the past.
“We’re really focused on recruiting right now,” he said. “It’s a work in progress. I can’t say we’re anywhere we want to be. I want to follow Rev. Dear’s strategy that we include the past leaders and the up-and-coming people.”
And so it plays out in Lambert’s own life.
Lambert recently lunched with the 87-year-old Audley in Lisle. Audley was reminiscing. Lambert was absorbing, strategizing.
“You have to use whatever methods you think are necessary to get people involved,” Audley said.
Finding new members may be like finding equal housing. And the struggle continues.
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