The young men filed into the church where the meeting was going on. They were interested in a youthful sort of way in the questions and answers that went back and forth the between their elders. But they looked as if they would have been far more interested if there were a pool table instead of a pulpit; Cokes instead of baptismal water; and in place of the organ, a stereo playing “Music To Watch Girls By.”

Fathers and mothers asked why their schools always seem to be neglected. Homeowners worried about holes and garbage in the streets. Everybody asked about jobs. Members of our commission, which invited the Vine City neighborhood to speak up, listened to the complaints, took notes and replied at times. With us were the chairman, T. M. Alexander, and the executive secretary, Eliza Paschal. Dozens of such meetings have been going in neighborhoods that desperately needed a world of hope, and more important, some evidence of action.

The dozen or so young men were reluctant to speak up. Eddie Murphy, a dedicated young man who had got them to attend, urged and cajoled them but they were quite silent. Why? Their Elders? Whitey? The futility of its all? It was hard to say.

Just A Cover-Up?

A young white man with a grizzled red beard spoke—“How do you know your commission was not just set up to cover up? You listen, you study, you report to city officials—and nothing happens.”

About two months have passed since that meeting. And as one of the members said to the earnest VISTA Volunteer-“that question entered the minds of many members. All I can answer is that when the commission becomes a rug to sweep complaints under, most of us will resign.”

Since that night, the commission has moved ahead from a “complaint bureau” to a “communication center.’ In the Dixie Hills incident, it was credited by the mayor as well as Negro leaders for leading the way in both mediation and action. It has seen to hundreds of complaints.

Now it is moving into a new phase—“from the specific to general, from the remedial to the preventative, from being an agent to being an innovator.” Soon after fact-finding and policy sessions with the city heads of departments and agencies are held, a “Citizen’s Agenda” will developed.

In advance, I want to urge all of our Catholic elements—parishes, schools, Christian family, Cursillo and Legion of Mary groups, our councils of men and women, our “new open parish”—to join with all Atlantans in working together toward a “Forward Atlanta” that will bring forward every citizen, every leader, every child. Many of these citizens live in Vine City.

Back To The Meeting

Finally, Eddie Murphy spoke up: Vine City (bounced by Northside, Simpson, Hunter and Summit) has no recreation center except for three dingy rooms at the corner of Magnolia and Walton streets—each 7 by 7.

“We call it a recreation center just to get them in here,” he said, ‘but we really try to counsel the kids, help them get jobs, try to get dropouts back in school.

You would think that a city and nation concerned with these things would welcome Eddie and try to find a dozen more like him or his volunteers, Joseph Brown and Mrs. Ann Miles.

But Washington last December apparently decided that it was easier to pay for the damage caused by riots than for recreation and the Negro’s other needs. Eddie’s services were dropped, and only when his backers and the Atlanta parks department provided some funds could he go back. He took a $19 pay cut to do it because the people of Atlanta weren’t particularly concerned.

So Economic Opportunity Atlanta provides three rooms free and Eddie is paid by a short funded city parks department. Mr. Delius, who was on TV Sunday night is an energetic and imaginative recreation leader with a pony budget. Someone asked Eddie if the city did not intend to increase the space and facilities for Vine City’s kids. He could have told us that the alderman used the $30,000 earmarked for them to pay off the stadium bonds. That the city finance committee turned down a half-mill tax increase for recreation. That Vine City may get a recreation and school center to cost nearly $5 million but it will take four years.

Eddie just said to us: “That’s fine, but where are these guys going tonight? Not in 1972, but tonight?”

A Hot Afternoon

I talked with some of his young men—quiet spoken, keen-eyed, good muscles, the makings of Atlanta’s leaders. They come from very poor homes; they live on littered, crowed streets. They are not rebels or troubles makers until, in the heart of a Dixie Hills break-down, they hear the inflaming words—

“Nobody’s gonna do nothin’ until we raise hell first.”

Two weeks ago, I returned to see the Vine City Center. The temperature was over 90 degrees. Overflowing the three 7 by 7 rooms there must have been 200 smaller boys and girls. The lucky ones played on a tilted ping pong table, checkers or cards or on a battered cardboard where you shoved wooden discs in the a “cue” like pool.

Mrs. Miles and Mr. Brown showed me around because Eddie was a very busy man. With almost no equipment did you ever try to baby sit 200 kids? He excused himself and soon I heard “hup-tuh-three-four,” and Drill Sergeant Murphy led most of them down the street to a vacant lot where they would play ball sort of.

Things are looking up. The Elks have allowed them the daytime use of their hall. The Royal Knight’s Society is a neighborhood club that buys sport equipment for them.

Boulevard or Dixie Hills could be repeated in any part of Atlanta where landlords fleece the people, where the housing authorities’ rules are suspect, where schools run on half-sessions. It can happen where a generation of kids grow up with the attitude of one young man that night: “Why should I be glad to get home? At Juvenile Home, I had a clean bed and three good meals.”

The mayor, the Human Relation’s Committee and many good city officials are concerned. So are some church and agency groups. But enough people are not concerned at all. Our Catholic people who can teach, direct, play counsel, get jobs, or bring pressure to bear on their aldermanic representatives have to be where the action is.

But concerned most of all are Eddie Murphy, his helpers and those hundreds of young men and women, and the children. “Where are they going to go tonight, and tomorrow and next week?”

If ecumenism and real Christian unity ever were handed a made-to-order spot on which to start, the corner of Magnolia and Walton streets is that spot.

Paul J. Hallinan

Archbishop Of Atlanta