Wisconsin Public Television University Place  Father Groppi: Civil Rights Leader  Stuart Stotts  7/23/13 UP899  cc >> Good afternoon. Today we're pleased to introduce and host author Stuart Stotts as part of the Wisconsin Historical Museum's History Sandwiched In lecture series. He will share with us today the story of Father Groppi, civil rights leader. The opinions expressed today are those of the presenter's and not necessarily those of the Wisconsin Historical Society staff or the museum's employees. Please join me today in welcoming Stuart to the stage. [APPLAUSE] >> Thank you so much. [APPLAUSE] Thank you all so much for being here. This is great. And in the spirit of what we'll be talking about today, despite I sort of have this summer cold thing going, but I thought it would be appropriate at a couple points in the program to sing a little bit, especially to sing some of the songs that might have been sung as part of the Civil Rights Movement that we're going to be talking about. So this is a pretty easy one, hopefully. 

Although, actually, they're all pretty easy. It's an echo song, which means I sing a line and you sing it back to me, except for the last line which we're going to all sing together, hopefully. § § Like so many of these songs, it's a song adapted out of the black church religious, spiritual tradition but then brought to bear for folks who were out there marching on the front lines and facing the kinds of dangers and challenges that they faced. § I'm on my way. § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> I'm on my way § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> I'm on my way § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> Down to Canaan land § >> And this is the part we're going to all sing together. § I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § Try that. § I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § § If you won't go § § >> If you won't go § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> If you won't go § § >> If you won't go § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> If you won't go § § >> If you won't go § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> Don't you hinder me § § >> I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § § Hand in hand § § >> Hand in hand § § >> Side by side § § >> Side by side § § >> Hand in hand § § >> Hand in hand § § >> And side by side § § >> And side by side § § >> Hand in hand § § >> Hand in hand § § >> And side by side § § >> And side by side § § >> I'm on my way, § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § Now do that first one again one more time, maybe a little bit stronger. § I'm on my way § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> I'm on my way § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> Down to Canaan land § § >> I'm on my way § § >> I'm on my way § § >> Down to Canaan land § >> Down to Canaan land § >> I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § Last line. § I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § Last time. § I'm on my way § § Glory hallelujah § § I'm on my way § § § [APPLAUSE]  Well, thank you all for singing, first of all. That would have been bad if you hadn't. 

[LAUGHTER] So I appreciate that. So we're here today to talk about Father Groppi, kind of the arc of his life, and in particular this amazing role that he played in bringing the Civil Rights Movement north. So I'll give you a little bit of background, and I'll be reading a little bit from the book because some of the first person pieces that are in there I think give some of the flavor of how energetic and powerful and challenging and difficult and ultimately victorious in a certain way these times were. So there's a copy of the book, in a small version. So Father Groppi was born in 1930 in Bay View, and his parents were Italian immigrants. So he was second generation. His dad came here and at first made a living selling balloons and soap door to door, but eventually managed to open a store, and James Groppi had 12 siblings. There were 12 children rather; two of them died at a young age. And he worked in the store when he was a kid. This is in Bay View, Wisconsin, which is basically the south side of Milwaukee. 

And here you can kind of get a little bit of a feeling here. Here's the interstate coming right through there. Bay View is down in here, and up here, this is the part, the central core that we'll be talking about later on. But you get the feel for kind of how Milwaukee is laid out. But in particular, the thing to remember for later is that this highway right here, there's sort of a no man's land in there. And there are these viaducts that cross it, in particular the 16th Street viaduct which we will come back to. But this gives you a little bit of a feel for what lay in between the different groups in Milwaukee. Well, the other interesting thing about Bay View is that way back in 1886 there was the Bay View massacre where people gathered to work for a shorter work day, and seven people were killed when the National Guard was brought out. So there's sort of this memory, a body memory almost I think, in the community of people working together to try to change things. All right, so Father Groppi there, raised there, went to high school, and he was kind of wild as a kid, self-described. 

A lot of things but he mentions fire crackers several times and other kinds of hijinks. But he was also a great basketball player. A very good basketball player. And the other piece about him being raised in Bay View is that his family was Italian but Bay View was mostly Irish and Polish. So Italians were in the minority, and in fact, he experienced a certain kind of discrimination that I believe was part of what fueled him later on. They went to church, but they didn't feel very comfortable there so an Italian priest would come in and have mass in local businesses. And he mentions a time when an Italian man came on the school address system and kids later made fun of his accent. And his father was very clear about not discriminating against people for those kinds of reasons. So he came from this foundation, this family that said we're not going to discriminate, we also have experienced this in our own lives. He went to seminary and then he went to, he was sent, when he came out in '59 he was sent to St. Veronica's, down in Bay View actually, but then four years later he was transferred to St. Boniface. 

All right? And it was kind of interesting because what drives him? This is always the question biographers ask. And so, in this case, he replied about why he'd been to seminary in the first place, he said, "I didn't see anything around. To me, life, in order to have meaning, had to have religion. You're here today and you're gone the next day. You've got to do something in this short, expansive time to make eternity meaningful." So, driven by that, often people wouldn't necessarily have that kind of response to life, but that was built into him. Before he became a priest, though, he worked for, he was a bus driver and he worked at this neighborhood center. And here, again, he experienced, through the stories of the people he was working with, what I meant to be black in Milwaukee, in particular. And, for example, he said black people were teaching me even when they were not aware of it. They were erasing from my mind stereotypes that every white person thought. And he remembered one event, there was a girl named Loretta. 

She usually got along with everyone, but one day a white kid walked past her and called her a racist name. It hurt her really bad. She was crushed, he said. After a young person has been hurt a number of times like that, you begin to react. So he saw firsthand what was going on, what kind of discrimination people experienced. He was at St. Veronica's for a while and then he moved to St. Boniface, which was in the center of the black part of Milwaukee called the central core as well. And there the stories got more intense, I think we could say. When he was there he began to see more clearly what had happened. But again, before he went there he also became involved in the Civil Rights Movement down south. And there is sort of an interesting strand of that where northern clergymen would go south to be part, to lend support, and in particular to have the white faces that might protect people, somewhat, who were in demonstrations. 

Not always of course. My own father went south several times and was part of civil rights movements, and clergy people of all types who were moved to go down there and be part of that and Groppi did that. He was part of different kinds of marches. He was at Selma. We'll see a picture of Selma in just a moment. He was at the march on Washington. So he was there and he learned something about what people were facing in the south. And even when he was at St. Veronica's, one time he preached 10 times in a row on discrimination. I don't know how that went over with his congregation, but that was his thing. But he was also somebody, he was loved by people. 

Children, in particular, loved him. He listened to people. He wanted to help. He didn't want to simply baptize and perform weddings. He really wanted to help.  So he had this background in the Civil Rights Movement itself down south, but what he wanted to do was to bring it home. When he was down south, he had the kinds of experiences that I think were not atypical there. At one point they're trying to integrate restaurants. He's there with a couple other people and a white fellow got up and walked to the other side of the counter. "A group of white men began to gather behind me. 

I paid the bill and we were followed outside and across the street. I tried to ignore them and stay calm. I got into the car very slowly. But Peggy became nervous and began to scream start the car, start the car! When they returned to the civil rights office, Nathaniel said, man, I was afraid but not Father. He was perfectly calm. But I was afraid." said Father Groppi. Another time they're driving past a factory. The white workers saw a black man and a white man together in a chair, in a car, sorry. "They chased us down the highway," he recalled. I'm telling you, I was afraid. 

I took out my rosary and I prayed from Memphis, Tennessee, to Jackson, Mississippi, without stopping. [LAUGHTER] You couldn't stop to go to the bathroom. You were afraid to get something to eat." So, as he saw what was happening in the south, he became angrier and angrier at what was going on there. But it sort of fueled his sense. So when he talks about this sense of righteousness growing in him, he says, "What happened was that as you went along in the movement, you got swallowed up in the cause. And the cause was the cause of righteousness. Pretty soon your fear was gone. Nothing mattered anymore. The cause consumed you and the cause was more important than your life." And I would suggest to that probably is how many people felt who were in that movement that they'd found something that was bigger than their lives to pull them along. All right. 

Well, there we go. So, part of Selma at one point, the third march there. And he talks about that. He says they were in a church with Martin Luther King, and when King stepped onto the stage to speak, the roar made by the audience almost lifted the roof off like a jetliner. And after the meeting, some of the religious leaders marched to the capitol building. State patrol officers blocked their way. Father Groppi and his group wanted to offer a prayer at the capitol, and the state troopers finally allowed it. As he prayed, Father Groppi said all people are part of one family. He said, "If we go to church on Sunday and preach and then do nothing, we're hypocrites." So what happened as a result of this is it was kind of easy, easy is not the right word, but it was a different kind of challenge to go down south, be part of this thing far away, help people down there. But his thinking changed so that he looked around because of his experience at St. Boniface and said we need to do something where we live. 

There are problems in Milwaukee that aren't just about what's going on down there. Maybe it's a little more obvious because of laws and policies and procedures, but we need to come back here. And when he said that, many of the people who were happy to go down to Alabama and point out what was wrong down there or even put their lives on the line were not quite as interested when it came to talking to their neighbors.  So he came back and he began to get involved here. The first thing that he did here was part of the school desegregation movement. Back in '63, '64, '65, trying to integrate the Milwaukee schools. Now, it was a little different from down south, but this is one of the things that to me really shows kind of what it was like at the time. They said, oh, yeah, we're going to have integrated schools, we're going to do busing. So they would bus kids from the black neighborhoods to the white schools, but they would actually bus them back to the regular schools for lunch. So people wouldn't be eating together. 

Completely separate classrooms. I'm guessing separate hallways. But the same schools, and this passed for integration in some way. So there were a lot of people who were pretty mad about that. And they had boycotts of the schools where they set up, people would go to freedom schools for the day, sort of shut down the schools for the day. And they marched, and Father Groppi was arrested for the first time. That's not a very good picture but you can see him there. But he was arrested for the first time on June 4th, my daughter's birthday incidentally enough. And he was arrested and taken away like other people. And it's sort of interesting to hear a little about what this boycott was like because the Catholic church had said, no, you can't have you church be a freedom school. 

But nevertheless, 200 people showed up, and he led them to a different church. And then they decided to march to the house of the Milwaukee school board director to talk to him directly. So Groppi is leading several hundred people there. Along the way, the marchers showed how much they respected him. When they reach Foley's home, they were making a lot of noise and the police threatened to arrest them if they weren't quiet. When Father Groppi asked all the demonstrators became silent. He said, "We made our point, now we will march back to St. Boniface in prayerful silence." They did without any problem. So after two years of this, though, it really hadn't worked. They sort of went into the legal channels, but, on the outside at least, they had not succeeded in desegregating the schools in Milwaukee. And they kind of gave up, in a way, at least in terms of this direct action sort of stuff. 

So Groppi became, Father Groppi became the leader of the Milwaukee NAACP Youth Council. And he had been the state Youth Council person. So they said, what are we going to do? What are we going to do? We've got to do something because he was very into direct action. So there was the Eagles Club. This was the next step. And, basically, there was a black child, say, who was on the swim team and he wanted to go to the Eagles Club to swim. It was an all white organization. The second largest Eagles Club in the country at the time. So he came there, and they said we've got to do something about this. So they began by having protests and marching and so on. 

And the Eagles said, we're a private club, we can have who we want here. I honestly actually don't know what the laws are about that right now, but part of the argument at the time was, you may be a private club, but all of Milwaukee's powerful people are part of the Eagles Club. All of the judges and the business leaders and the elected officials, they have access to each other, they can talk with each other, what we now call networks, and black people are excluded from that so we can't really participate meaningfully in the life of the city. And Eagles wouldn't hear about it. So then, sort of in a very colorful way I think, Father Groppi took people out. They isolated one member of the Eagles Club, Judge Canon, who was a liberal, interestingly enough, but they thought they could maybe have some impact on him. He had kind of a history of ruling in a liberal sort of way. So they went to his house in Wauwatosa. There's the Youth Council. I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself there. 

They went to his house in Wauwatosa, and it became sort of a circus almost. I'll read you a little bit about what it was like. I don't mean circus in a good way, incidentally. Each evening, Father Groppi drove Youth Council members to Wauwatosa, a middle class, white suburb of Milwaukee, where they stood before Judge Canon's home with signs. Angry white neighbors met them there. Some of these neighbors threw bottles, eggs, and cherry bombs, shouting things like, go back to the zoo and go back to the jungle. They also shouted at the police who were there to protect the marchers, saying, kill them and white trash. Other neighbors came to watch, and a concession stand even sold popcorn and soda. [laughter] He wasn't the only clergyman involved. Rabbi Stern said the Eagles were behaving more like vultures by not changing their policy. 

But in the end, Judge Canon said, no, I will remain in the Eagles, I may not agree with that policy but I won't leave. So after nine nights of protests, 400 National Guard troops came to protect them, two days later they agreed to meet with the Eagles and negotiate, but it didn't lead to anything. So, once again, this very calculated protest did not lead to change. And out of this, Father Groppi, in the inner core, they found a house and they called it Freedom House, and that became sort of their center. And, also, in a controversial way, he created what he called the Youth Commandos out of the Youth Council. And the Youth Commandos were young, black men who were there to sort of protect people at events. And many white people found this very threatening. They thought it was the beginning of some sort of armed militia or uprising. Well, the Eagles didn't work, so what were they going to do? They had to have a new focus. And they decided that their focus was going to be housing because there was a man, a marine who came to them and said, I want to live in this house outside the inner core, and she won't rent to me. 

So Father Groppi and the Youth Council got together, they went to the woman's house and began to sing Christmas carols. That didn't work. So, again, after some negotiation and deliberation, they decided to hold what is probably Father Groppi's most famous campaign which is the fair housing marches. Now, you remember the map I hope, starting on the north side and going to the south side, and so these marches went across the 16th Street viaduct. Now, the segregation of Milwaukee, when you had the great migration back in the '40s and '50s, black people moving up from the south to work in factories and industrial kinds of places, nevertheless, very contained. Poor housing stock, nobody else would rent to them, expensive, falling down, crammed together. So they decided they were going to march across the viaduct. And here's what the viaduct looks like. It's long. I've walked across it. 

It's long. This is not just a little bridge. And so they were going to walk across it. And let me just read to you a little bit about what this was like. I'll find my spot here. On August 28, '67, more than a hundred marchers gathered at Freedom House on 15th Street, marched through the streets and then south across the 16th Street viaduct. On the north side of the viaduct, around 50 white people from the south side, many from Father Groppi's old church, held signs that said, "We south siders welcome Negros." They crossed the long viaduct, looking down on the railroad yards, factories, and piles of coal, singing freedom songs, and when they reached the south end of the viaduct, a very different greeting was there. So here they are, beginning to walk. When they reached the south side, there were more than 3,000 angry white south siders holding signs and yelling. The marchers were frightened, but they continued walking three miles to -- park. 

They planned to have a picnic there since they didn't have a permit for a rally. By the time they arrived, more than 5,000 people opposed to the march were gathered around the park trying to disrupt them. Father Groppi attempted to speak, but the police urged the marchers to return to the north side. There you see sort of this, on the left side, the Commandos, the police on the right sort of trying to maintain some sense of order and protection. After only 15 minutes, Father Groppi lead the marchers away. He said, "We're coming back tomorrow night, we want our picnic." They marched toward the viaduct. Hundreds of people followed them shouting racist slogans like, "We want our slaves." They chanted, "E-I-E-I-O, Father Groppi's got to go." Police protected the marchers as best they could, but when they reached the south end, some south siders had blocked the street with an old hearse. The hearse had a sign on it that said, "Father Groppi's last ride." They began to throw bottles, rocks, and garbage. Some marchers held signs over their heads for protection while others ran for safety. Police fired teargas at the violent south side protesters who began to disperse, and they headed back over the viaduct. 

Here you see people getting ready to march. And this is what they faced at the other end. Well, the next night they said, we're going back. Groppi called it a white riot. More people showed up on both sides. More than 12,000 south siders waited for Father Groppi and about 200 marchers who had come from the north side. At first they were left alone. The south siders held signs and yelled things. Father Groppi said, "Keep cool, walk fast, girls in the middle, don't be afraid. If we were afraid to die, we wouldn't be good Christians." However, a few blocks from the park, a mob of people attacked. 

They carried signs that said, "White power." Teenagers and young children joined in the chant of, "Kill, kill, kill." The police fired teargas, but the marchers were in bad shape. >> Can you identify the year you're talking about? >> Yes. Thank you for asking, '67. The police tried to persuade Father Groppi to turn around, but he refused. He said, "We'll stay here until the National Guard comes and we can march like free American citizens." They agreed, the police reluctantly, they continued to protect them, singing songs like Ain't Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around. When they reached the park, Father Groppi spoke. He said, "You've shown that you are willing to die for freedom" and they began to march back toward the viaduct. Again they were hit with bottles, eggs, garbage, fire crackers exploding around them. The marchers returned to Freedom House, and while they were there sort of gathered around it, it's unclear exactly what happened, but Freedom House was set on fire. They had now nowhere to go. 

Probably, I think, they claim it was by the police. I think that's probably true, but nobody can really say for sure. And so what they decided to do was to keep marching. Even though the mayor banned marches, they said we're going anyway. They marched to city hall. And this is a first-person account of what it was like on one of the marches across that viaduct. "First thing, I was scared. Crossing the bridge seemed like it took forever. As we got closer and closer to National Street, you could hear them. You could hear the echo. 

You could hear the chants of "white power." We knew that the police weren't going to protect us so we cupped arm in arm. Everybody was really snug that first time we went over, sort of like a snake winding, and the closer we got, the more scared I got. The first time was a lot of glass being thrown, beer bottles. We couldn't march on the sidewalks anymore and had to go into the street. That's when most people got hurt." Well, this went on, in various amounts of marchers and so on, for 200 nights. Two hundred nights of people marching there into the south side to demand change. Sometimes relatively little violence, sometimes lots. And in this time, Father Groppi became a real flash point. He was named the National Religious Leader of the Year by Time magazine in 1967, but there were plenty of people who hated him deeply. Some of the things that were said about him here, for example, "They were setting up the platform for a white power march," said one speaker, "to the jungle where Groppi operates. 

We're going to end the black scourge." These kinds of things, this sort of language is what was flying around at the time. And people said about him things like, "We're not going to let those savages, those black beasts, take our rights away." said one white Catholic priest. "It is the very devil that is behind these people, and we have to pray for their souls." But other people, of course, were far more supportive and sent money. For example, from Louisville, Kentucky, someone said, "I read with relief that another member of the Catholic clergy has had the courage and the conviction to fight with and for the Negro people." So a very divisive kind of figure. And what happened was, after 200 nights, they stopped. And I think this is one of the sort of questions or interesting things about this is they essentially said we can't keep doing this. It's not working. Nothing's happening. You could see that as a defeat or having given up. However, a week later, Martin Luther King was assassinated, and Father Groppi led, these are some more pictures from the free housing marches here, fair housing marches. 

But after Martin Luther King was assassinated, Father Groppi led a march of 15,000 people peacefully through the streets of Milwaukee, because, as you know, the danger and fear and occurrence of riots was very possible at that time. A week after Martin Luther King was killed, Lyndon Johnson signed a federal Fair Housing Act, superseding. And Milwaukee then even, soon after that, signed its own act to bring this issue to a close in that sense. So was that a defeat? Was he an effective leader? Was he something you could point to, well, he did this and therefore this happened? Not so clearly. And yet, helping to create this climate and this commitment to change that was really made possible the sorts of things that did happen over the next few years. >> Did you say who was marching? It looks like predominantly black people there. >> It was predominantly black people, but there were definitely white people who joined in. A real mix of that. And I think also people from the outside came to join him as well. So that's a good question. 

That's right. That's right. >> As people in Milwaukee, we referred the viaduct as the bridge between Africa and Poland. >> Exactly. Right. The longest bridge in the world. From Africa to Poland. Right. Two miles. But that's right. 

That's exactly right. So, to sort of finish the story here and then we'll have some more time for questions and so on. After the free housing marches, he was involved with the welfare mothers march in the capitol and was arrested there, spent some time in jail. And after that, kind of, my interpretation of it is that he really kind of got tired. He moved to Washington, DC, part of the time, did a radio talk show there, was still involved in things but I think it was so wearing on him, very difficult to keep up that kind of commitment or to know exactly what to do. And he continued to be involved in various ways but not in such an out there sort of leadership role. And then in, let me try to get the date right here, in 1976, he married Margaret Rozga and that meant he had to leave the priesthood. And she is still alive. She's written a book of poems called 200 Nights about the marches. She was with him at the time, an activist herself. 

And Father Groppi did, he died in 1985 on November 4th, interestingly enough, which is my other daughter's birthday. [LAUGHTER] The 16th Street viaduct is now renamed the Groppi viaduct. You can go there and see a little sign about that. And on his grave, that's what it says.  So let's sing one more song, and then we'll take a little time for questions or things that maybe people want to share about their own experience. I know that there are people here who were part of that time, who knew Groppi, who marched with him and had some personal connections with him, so I'd be delighted to have a short conversation about what that was like. But my take on Father Groppi is that he's really someone driven deeply by the desire for justice and equality in a very spiritual and visceral way. Based on his own experience, based on the stories that he had heard, just driven by that in a way that sometimes made him very angry. And he just sort of couldn't abide people being treated badly or being threatened and wanted the inclusive world that he imagined. So this song goes like this. 

§ I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § § Hallelujah § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § Going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § Now that's your part, in case you wondered. Like this. § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § § Hallelujah § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § Going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § § We'll be young § § And old together § § We'll be young § § And old together § § One of these days § § Hallelujah § § We'll be young § § And old together § § Be young and old together § § One of these days § Back to the welcome table. § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § § Hallelujah § § I'm going to sit § § At the welcome table § § Going to sit § § At the welcome table § § One of these days § § § So let's take a minute here. I've given you sort of the rough outline, I think, of James Groppi's life. He was honored this year on a Martin Luther King Day celebration. I'd urge you to take a look at that video, find it on YouTube. Margaret speaks and it's very interesting. It's great. Great. 

Speaking about his spirit and how he might reflect on the times that we are in, in particular, here in our state. So, questions or comments? Yes, back there. Oh, before you even say that, I meant to say this in the beginning, I was distracted by the darn music, but Bobbie Malone here was the person who first asked me to write this book. She was the editor. She and I worked very hard. She's an amazing person to work with. I'm honored to have you here today, as well as your husband Bill who's also an amazing writer and musician. But, Bobbie, I'm so grateful you came here, and now you can ask your question. >> I was just thinking about the time of Father Groppi's exhaustion and Martin Luther King's death, and the movement changing from the-- Okay, I'll ask with the-- Is it on? >> Yes. >> Okay. 

The movement changed with Dr. King's death from white interested people being a part of it to being more black led, if that had anything to do with that kind of change in temperament of the whole movement. >> I think there's that, and I'm not an expert on the civil rights movement in the big picture, but certainly it did change after Dr. King died. But you also had then the Vietnam War, which began to take people's attention away. Certain things happened as a result of Dr. King's work. People could say, oh, things are better. But also the Vietnam War being in our faces at the time, on the news, in a way that people then took some of what they learned. I think a lot of energy went that way as well. Yeah, good point. Other questions or comments? How many people here, before you ask, were in Milwaukee at that time. Okay, a few. 

Anybody here who saw Father Groppi or had some direct experience with him. Yeah, right, right. Great. You had a question, sir. >> The Eagles Club, that was a weird thing. The bowling ally and bar, blacks and whites could be, but not at the athletic facility unless you were from, like, the Milwaukee Bucks. [laughter] It had to be real special. >> Interesting. >> You see, when you have a liquor license you must allow everybody. But not to the health facility. 

>> Right. >> So they got around it that way. >> That's very interesting. That's great. It's great to know that. Yes. >> I wasn't going to ask this, but I will. Where there women in the Eagle Club? Because when you were making the argument about why blacks should be in there, that was the same kind of argument women were making about private clubs. >> That's a good question. And I don't know the answer. 

Do you know the answer to that? >> There were women in there. >> So women could be there but not black people. >> Yeah, exactly, in the health club itself. >> But not in the club, the main part? >> In the health club and that. They could be in the bar and whatever. They would have Thursday all day to use the swimming pool, because us guys would always be skinny dipping. >> Uh-huh. >> It was weird. >> I don't even want to think about it. [laughter] >> It was not a pretty sight. 

[laughter] >> Great question, thank you. Yes. >> I have two quick questions. Where is the burial site? >> The burial site? It's in Milwaukee. Actually, I Googled it and I brought it up but I don't remember. It's in Milwaukee. I'd have to tell you to Goggle it. I'm not sure. One of the Catholic cemeteries. >> And is his wife's poetry book available? >> It is. 

You can get it-- I don't know if they have it here, but it's available on Amazon or from a local book store ordering it. Certainly, right. >> Then a slightly larger question. There were also riots in Milwaukee in about '65, I think it was, around the time of Watts. How does that figure in? >> What it did is-- It think that those riots created this climate where people said, we have to do something. What's the least we can do? That was sort of the response on top, was, you know, can we do that? To go back to your location question, last December Arts Alive which is an organization in Milwaukee that works with students and art integrated approaches to history and other kinds of learning. They sponsored a tour that high school students had put together of the significant places from this particular part of history. It was fascinating. I went on it. You would go to where St. Boniface was. 

It's not there anymore. They would do a reading and sort of talk about what was going on. We went to -- Park, and people would talk about that. You could sort of imagine the scene and so on. Apparently they are going to continue doing those. I know they did some in the spring again. If you have some interest in that, it's well worth while to, partly just support the work and the passion that these students are bringing to it, but also when you see the places and you stand there and look across the viaduct, it's a very different feeling than looking at my slide. Yes. >> I was around Madison, not Milwaukee, at the time, but I remember Father Groppi being involved in the anti-Vietnam War rallies, or whatever. I don't know any details about it, but was he doing that at the same time as he was doing his civil rights-- >> You bet. 

It's a good question. My research sort of focused just of this particular time. I'm absolutely certain that that's true, that he would have been involved there. But I don't think, from anything that I ever found, that he had a leadership or significant role in the way that he did here. Yeah. Right.  >> I'm curious if the Catholic church, as the greater church, had a response to Father Groppi's work, or if they communicated with him, or if you've found anything in your research. Because, you know, obviously there were Catholics church, there were missionaries to Catholic people. But the other Catholic priest, you said-- Or I think you mentioned that there was a Catholic priest who said, they're from the devil. You know, he was, blah, blah. 

So I'm curious about the greater church. >> There was this interesting tension between Groppi and Cousins, Archbishop Cousins, who only one time forbade him, back when they were doing the boycotts and the freedom school, who forbade him for being part of that church. After that he just sort of let him do it. People would get on Cousins to say, hey, cut this guy off, basically. You know, put a leash on him. Put a muzzle on him. But he never did, which is interesting to me. You wonder what the dynamics were of all of that inside there. Seeing, what does this mean for our church? What is the mission of our church verses the image of our church? I think it was the kind of discussion that was played out in religions around the country. I think it was also true in my own father's church. 

What is the stance of the church as a whole? How much responsibility do we have to let people follow their own individual conscience verses saying, you don't speak for us? You know, right. Yeah. >> There was a-- I don't think this is on. There was an article in First Things a few months-- >> I think it is on, actually. >> There was an article in First Things a few months back. It's a periodical that I subscribe to. It said that when Martin Luther King was Birmingham jail, down in Alabama I guess the jail is. But all the religious leaders on Alabama, including two Catholic bishops, but all the Protestant leaders said, that Martin Luther King was-- His behavior was inappropriate and it was untimely. This is when he was in the Birmingham jail. It just shows you the resistance that people give to change. 

>> Yeah, that's right. Yeah, thank you. Yeah. >> In context of both of those, I was in grade school in Milwaukee at the time. My dad and his brothers and sisters grow up in St. Boniface parish. The aunts and uncles lived in the house they grew up in until the late '70s. I spent a lot of time in the inner core growing up. But also, in the white areas of Milwaukee when this was going on Sundays would be filled with Catholics who had just gone to mass coming home and talking about that God damn Father Groppi. There was huge condemnation of these efforts. >> That's right, yeah. 

And I think-- You know, one of the things, I think, to take away from thinking about Father Groppi is, we look at him now as standing up for things that seem obvious to us, like fair housing, you know, nobody would really dispute that in a serious way, no. But nevertheless at the time he was an incredible divisive figure. I think his style was also very confrontational, which makes that sort of reaction, I think, a little more likely. He was not someone to sit in the boardroom and negotiate and talk about the finer points of law. He was going to be out there marching with slogans and signs. So, right, great. Well, I think that brings us to the end of our time. I'm delighted that you all came down here to hear about this man. I think he's a-- I'm delighted that his story can be out there, and people remember him and think about some of the spirit that he brought to social change, and keeping that alive in our own work today, whatever issues we're facing. Thanks to the Historical Society, and all of you for coming here today. 

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