Dr. Richard Harris and his book Growing Up in South Madison
South Madison Roots
South Madison Roots
| Dr. Richard Harris was born in 1937 at Madison General Hospital in the heart of the old Greenbush. |
By Jonathan Gramling
Part 3 of 4
The African American community in the Madison area has gone through a
lot of changes since the first African American came to Madison in the
Civil War era. Dr. Richard Harris, born in 1937 at Madison General
Hospital — now Meriter Hospital — in the heart of the old Greenbush
neighborhood, has lived through roughly half of that history. Harris is now
writing a book about Madison and his life called Growing Up Black in
South Madison.
Up until the late 1950s, the African American community, although it faced
discrimination, particularly in the areas of employment and housing, had a
strong social and economic base with civic clubs, businesses and
churches meeting the needs of its community members. But political,
social and economic forces would soon create major disruptions in
community life.
Part 3 of 4
The African American community in the Madison area has gone through a
lot of changes since the first African American came to Madison in the
Civil War era. Dr. Richard Harris, born in 1937 at Madison General
Hospital — now Meriter Hospital — in the heart of the old Greenbush
neighborhood, has lived through roughly half of that history. Harris is now
writing a book about Madison and his life called Growing Up Black in
South Madison.
Up until the late 1950s, the African American community, although it faced
discrimination, particularly in the areas of employment and housing, had a
strong social and economic base with civic clubs, businesses and
churches meeting the needs of its community members. But political,
social and economic forces would soon create major disruptions in
community life.
The destruction of the Greenbush — the integrated neighborhood roughly bordered by W. Washington Ave. and Park and Regent Streets
— through urban renewal efforts of the city of Madison also destroyed one of the three major areas where African Americans could find
housing in the city. It was a city initiative that was fraught with controversy.
“I just can’t believe that a group of people — now that I think about it — would summarily lie to Black people especially and kick them
out of their homes,” Harris said. “That’s what they did. It was the city staff that lied to them. It was called the Madison Redevelopment
Authority, MRA. I had a lot of friends who lived down there. We were talking about this 2-3 months ago. This thing really caught us off-
guard.
“What happened was the city began to send out letters to property owners. A lot of the people who owned the apartments in those
areas were White. They never told the Black tenants what the score was. But there were a lot of Blacks who owned property. There
was one lady named Mrs. Wiley. I have an article about Mrs. Wiley. Her husband’s name was Gus. He died and dear Mrs. Wiley was
fending for herself, probably in her mid-‘60s, trying to sell her home and at the same time, trying to find a place to live. The only
attorneys who really helped Black people back in those days were Jewish attorneys. Real estate people wouldn’t sell any properties to
Black people or rent to them unless it was in South Madison or over on Blount Street. So you were restricted to those two areas. So
Mrs. Wiley was trying to sell her property and some guy offered her 50 percent of what it was appraised at. She didn’t know any better.
“What made me so mad was they kicked all of these people out and they lied to them. They said, ‘You’ll be able to come back after we
tear these houses down and we’ll build a little house for you and you can have a garden.’ A lot of people didn’t do anything. A lot of
people who rented received two-week notices. A lot of people had to just leave their clothes there. They didn’t have U-Hauls back in
those days, of course. It was just a debacle. The aldermen could care less. One of the reasons why is that area was considered a
blight. You would drive up W. Washington Avenue to the Capitol and they had to go by there. So they felt they needed to get rid of it.”
While the city promised them they would be able to come back, that promise was not kept. “After they kicked everyone out, they did
two things,” Harris said. “First, they sold the property to a guy who had ties to the city council. So he built a string of apartments up the
right hand side of W. Washington Avenue called the Samson Apartments. Then on the left hand side, they put in the small apartments
called Bayview for low-income families. By the time Bayview was built, many of the people had died or moved elsewhere. And they
didn’t want to move into an apartment. So they were in a Catch 22, the Black families. The city wouldn’t give them what they were
worth. I’ve told people whom I know whose families were shafted, ‘If I were you, I would get the Justice Department to conduct an
investigation and ask for some kind of compensation from the city because your people were shafted.’ They were probably offered
$3,000 for something that was worth $40-50,000. My uncle, Zach Trotter, fought them. And it killed him later on. He fought them and he
won. He’s the only person — he had a tavern — who got what he asked for, plus they paid his legal expenses. But it was a terrible
struggle for him.”
Many of the families moved down to the South Madison area, one of the few areas African American families could find housing in the
days of restrictive covenants before the open housing laws were enacted. And some urban renewal did happen in the Bram Hill area
east of S. Park Street. But it was the type of renewal that benefited the people who lived there.
“The guy in charge of renewal at that time was named Saul Levin, a great guy,” Harris said. “I liked Saul. He did what they call
selective renewal. He had his staff go around and take a look at all of the dilapidated houses and say ‘Look we’re going to have to
uproot you and I give you my word, you will be able to come back to this house when you complete it.’ And he did. They put in curbs
and gutters. It was a far cry from what they did down in the Triangle.”
Yet, dark clouds were on the horizon for South Madison. While the areas on both sides of Park Street, for the most part, were
underdeveloped and dominated by what is called affordable housing, it was looked at as a major entryway into the city of Madison. It’s
location was convenient, a short trip to many city parks, hospitals and downtown while also having quick access to West Towne and
the west side. People began to have plans for South Madison, especially since city planners had projected that the African American
community on the south side would experience rapid growth. “I’m going to say around 1975, I began to hear rumors about how the city
would like to take over all of South Madison and tear everything down, move everyone out and make this a really high rent area,”
Harris recalled.
A Euro-American woman, Sandy Solberg, had gotten wind of the city’s plan and contacted Harris, who by that time had been the
director of the South Madison Neighborhood Center and had gone on to work at MATC. Solberg would not be deterred.
“What she was talking about didn’t make any sense to me,” Harris said. “So I told her I would call her back. Well I didn’t call her back.
So about 4-5 days later, she called me back. She went through the same thing again. This time, she said, ‘I spoke with Rev. Dawson
and he told me to call you.’ Well Rev. Dawson, the pastor of Mt. Zion Baptist Church, was a good man and I figured if Rev. Dawson is in
the mix, I would look into it. What she said was that a friend of hers moved into Madison and wanted to live in an area that was fairly
integrated and moved near Ben’s Barbershop was. We used to call it the Tree Streets area. He told her that he talked to the realtor and
told the realtor she would like to live in an area with Black people. He said, ‘Look, I’m going to tell you this. They have two schools
there but they are going to be closed in the next 3-4 years. Think about that.’ So he called Sandy and lo and behold, Sandy called the
realtor and he said, ‘Yeah, everyone knows that area is going to be torn down and it is going to be a very high-scale neighborhood and
to do that, you have to get rid of the schools. If you tear the schools down, the neighborhood goes.’ Sandy asked where they were
going. He said, ‘Basically, Madison is working on a non-discrimination clause so that Negroes can live all over the city. My guess is
they probably will have to go back to the Triangle or on the far east side, which we now know as Northport Drive and they aren’t going
to put any new schools out there either. But they do have schools that are half-filled.’ Sandy said that he must be kidding. And he told
her no.”
Next Issue: The fight for South Madison schools
— through urban renewal efforts of the city of Madison also destroyed one of the three major areas where African Americans could find
housing in the city. It was a city initiative that was fraught with controversy.
“I just can’t believe that a group of people — now that I think about it — would summarily lie to Black people especially and kick them
out of their homes,” Harris said. “That’s what they did. It was the city staff that lied to them. It was called the Madison Redevelopment
Authority, MRA. I had a lot of friends who lived down there. We were talking about this 2-3 months ago. This thing really caught us off-
guard.
“What happened was the city began to send out letters to property owners. A lot of the people who owned the apartments in those
areas were White. They never told the Black tenants what the score was. But there were a lot of Blacks who owned property. There
was one lady named Mrs. Wiley. I have an article about Mrs. Wiley. Her husband’s name was Gus. He died and dear Mrs. Wiley was
fending for herself, probably in her mid-‘60s, trying to sell her home and at the same time, trying to find a place to live. The only
attorneys who really helped Black people back in those days were Jewish attorneys. Real estate people wouldn’t sell any properties to
Black people or rent to them unless it was in South Madison or over on Blount Street. So you were restricted to those two areas. So
Mrs. Wiley was trying to sell her property and some guy offered her 50 percent of what it was appraised at. She didn’t know any better.
“What made me so mad was they kicked all of these people out and they lied to them. They said, ‘You’ll be able to come back after we
tear these houses down and we’ll build a little house for you and you can have a garden.’ A lot of people didn’t do anything. A lot of
people who rented received two-week notices. A lot of people had to just leave their clothes there. They didn’t have U-Hauls back in
those days, of course. It was just a debacle. The aldermen could care less. One of the reasons why is that area was considered a
blight. You would drive up W. Washington Avenue to the Capitol and they had to go by there. So they felt they needed to get rid of it.”
While the city promised them they would be able to come back, that promise was not kept. “After they kicked everyone out, they did
two things,” Harris said. “First, they sold the property to a guy who had ties to the city council. So he built a string of apartments up the
right hand side of W. Washington Avenue called the Samson Apartments. Then on the left hand side, they put in the small apartments
called Bayview for low-income families. By the time Bayview was built, many of the people had died or moved elsewhere. And they
didn’t want to move into an apartment. So they were in a Catch 22, the Black families. The city wouldn’t give them what they were
worth. I’ve told people whom I know whose families were shafted, ‘If I were you, I would get the Justice Department to conduct an
investigation and ask for some kind of compensation from the city because your people were shafted.’ They were probably offered
$3,000 for something that was worth $40-50,000. My uncle, Zach Trotter, fought them. And it killed him later on. He fought them and he
won. He’s the only person — he had a tavern — who got what he asked for, plus they paid his legal expenses. But it was a terrible
struggle for him.”
Many of the families moved down to the South Madison area, one of the few areas African American families could find housing in the
days of restrictive covenants before the open housing laws were enacted. And some urban renewal did happen in the Bram Hill area
east of S. Park Street. But it was the type of renewal that benefited the people who lived there.
“The guy in charge of renewal at that time was named Saul Levin, a great guy,” Harris said. “I liked Saul. He did what they call
selective renewal. He had his staff go around and take a look at all of the dilapidated houses and say ‘Look we’re going to have to
uproot you and I give you my word, you will be able to come back to this house when you complete it.’ And he did. They put in curbs
and gutters. It was a far cry from what they did down in the Triangle.”
Yet, dark clouds were on the horizon for South Madison. While the areas on both sides of Park Street, for the most part, were
underdeveloped and dominated by what is called affordable housing, it was looked at as a major entryway into the city of Madison. It’s
location was convenient, a short trip to many city parks, hospitals and downtown while also having quick access to West Towne and
the west side. People began to have plans for South Madison, especially since city planners had projected that the African American
community on the south side would experience rapid growth. “I’m going to say around 1975, I began to hear rumors about how the city
would like to take over all of South Madison and tear everything down, move everyone out and make this a really high rent area,”
Harris recalled.
A Euro-American woman, Sandy Solberg, had gotten wind of the city’s plan and contacted Harris, who by that time had been the
director of the South Madison Neighborhood Center and had gone on to work at MATC. Solberg would not be deterred.
“What she was talking about didn’t make any sense to me,” Harris said. “So I told her I would call her back. Well I didn’t call her back.
So about 4-5 days later, she called me back. She went through the same thing again. This time, she said, ‘I spoke with Rev. Dawson
and he told me to call you.’ Well Rev. Dawson, the pastor of Mt. Zion Baptist Church, was a good man and I figured if Rev. Dawson is in
the mix, I would look into it. What she said was that a friend of hers moved into Madison and wanted to live in an area that was fairly
integrated and moved near Ben’s Barbershop was. We used to call it the Tree Streets area. He told her that he talked to the realtor and
told the realtor she would like to live in an area with Black people. He said, ‘Look, I’m going to tell you this. They have two schools
there but they are going to be closed in the next 3-4 years. Think about that.’ So he called Sandy and lo and behold, Sandy called the
realtor and he said, ‘Yeah, everyone knows that area is going to be torn down and it is going to be a very high-scale neighborhood and
to do that, you have to get rid of the schools. If you tear the schools down, the neighborhood goes.’ Sandy asked where they were
going. He said, ‘Basically, Madison is working on a non-discrimination clause so that Negroes can live all over the city. My guess is
they probably will have to go back to the Triangle or on the far east side, which we now know as Northport Drive and they aren’t going
to put any new schools out there either. But they do have schools that are half-filled.’ Sandy said that he must be kidding. And he told
her no.”
Next Issue: The fight for South Madison schools