History...Just Down the Road

I grew up in rural Wisconsin...in a little village about 4 miles outside of the "larger" town of New Richmond, which was just down the road. After traveling across the prairie and "into town" to get to school or the grocery store or just about anywhere, really, we had to drive down Knowles Avenue, through the north side of New Richmond. When you get to (what I think of as) the heart of town--where Knowles intersects with 1st Street...just in front of the dammed up part of the Willow River--there sits an old two-story building.

Doar, Drill & Skow, today.
(Thanks to Dad for the picture!)
In the 1950s, the addition on the right
had not yet been built.

That building didn't mean much to me in my childhood. It was a recognizable place in town...across the street from the library...next to the mill pond. It was (and still is) a law firm. I remember watching a parade out on the sidewalk in front of the building on a hot, summer afternoon. And I went to a meeting there once. But, like I said, the building never meant much to me. I didn't really know anyone who worked there. And I certainly never knew that a man who played critical roles in our country's Civil Rights Movement worked there for 10 years of his life.

Photo Credit: Doar, Rieck, Kaley & Mack

I didn't really know the story of John Doar.

Or maybe I did. Sort of. I don't know why I can't remember what I did and did not know about John Doar. I may have had a vague sense that a Doar from New Richmond did something important...but it wasn't solidified in my memory.

It is now.

The Doar family house, today.
(Thanks to Dad for the picture!)

From a wealthy family, John Doar was born in 1921 in Minneapolis,  Minnesota (likely instead of in New Richmond's small-town clinic) and went to school at St. Paul Academy. But his family lived in New Richmond, where his father had a successful law firm. After receiving an undergraduate degree from Princeton and a law degree from Cal, he returned home to practice at the family firm from 1950 through 1960. The same firm that is located in the building right at the corner of Knowles and 1st. The building I drove past at least twice a day, almost every day, for the better part of my young life.

In 1960, thanks to connections from his days at Princeton, he was called to serve in the Civil Rights Division of the Justice Department. Eisenhower was President at the time...and when Kennedy was elected President in 1961, Doar stayed on, eventually becoming Assistant Attorney for Civil Rights, serving through the Johnson administration until 1967.

Doar spent the better part of the 1960s in Mississippi, bringing almost 30 voting rights cases to the courts. He didn't do this from the comfort of his office in Washington D.C. He is quoted as saying, "I was the first Justice Department lawyer who went down South to see what the facts were for myself" (Linder, 2002).

Rep. John Lewis presents John Doar with the Choral Arts
Society Humanitarian Award at the Kennedy Center on
January 11, 2009.

He established himself as a powerful ally in the fight for Civil Rights. Georgia Congressman John Lewis (former Freedom Rider and Civil Rights Activist) explained that "He gave us a reason not to give up on those in power...People would always say, 'Call John Doar. John Doar could reach Bobby Kennedy,' " and Lewis lauds Doar, saying "The story of John Doar needs to be told. As a nation and as a people, we wouldn't be where we are today without John Doar," (Gilbert, 2009).

Examples to support Congressman Lewis' lofty accolades?

In 1962, John Doar and former Air Force veteran James Meredith took no fewer than 4 trips to Oxford, Mississippi before Meredith was finally, historically, allowed to enroll as the first African-American at the University of Mississippi. Doar and Meredith were roommates for a number of weeks, until much of the violence and unrest subsided.

University of Mississippi...October, 1962
Chief U.S. Marshal James McShane, James Meredith & John Doar

In 1963, after the funeral of assassinated Civil Rights activist Medgar Evers, tensions rose in the streets of Jackson, Mississippi. A crowd of young black protesters refused to leave the streets. Riot police "drew their pistols or began swinging riot clubs" (Linder, 2002). Rioters threw bricks and bottles. Reporters at the scene "were certain that troopers and deputies were going to open fire at any moment, sparking a massacre" (Gilbert, 2009).

Doar walked out into the street and "called out to the crowd, 'You're not going to win anything with bottles and bricks [...] My name is John Doar--D-O-A-R. I'm from the Justice Department, and anybody around here knows I stand for what is right. [...] Medgar Evers wouldn't want it this way,' " (Linder, 2002). With the help of other protesters, he was able to disperse the crowd. People on hand that day, especially reporters who were in the crowd, are certain that he prevented (additional) violence and tragedy.

Farish Street - Jackson, Mississippi - June, 1963

Screen-grab from this gallery of photos of John Doar's talk at
Princeton on December 8, 2011.

In 1964, John Doar became involved in what would be known as the Mississippi Burning trial. Three CORE volunteers went missing in Neshoba County. It was later determined that they were--with the involvement of local law enforcement--murdered by members of the Klan. After over 3 years of searching for evidence, building a case, and bouncing between various courts, in October of 1967, Doar and his team became the first attorneys to successfully convict a white person of violence against a black person in the state of Mississippi.

Slain CORE volunteers: Andrew Goodman,
James Chaney, and Mickey Schwerner.

He also successfully prosecuted the state of Alabama's first federal civil rights case.

Viola Liuzzo, murdered by the Klan after marching with Martin Luther King Jr. in the 1965 march from Selma to Montgomery

All this, from a man with whom I share a hometown. I can't even get my brain around it.

I don't know why, at 37 years of age, I am so taken by this fact. While I get pretty fired up about a great many things, I wouldn't say that I'm ever really flabbergasted about much of anything. But this...this is sticking with me. I feel sort of haunted (in a good way) by my proximity to this man...even though I've never met him, and probably never will. It's so amazing to feel so "close" to history.

To know that John Doar was raised in my hometown...that he came back after college to practice law with his father from 1950-1960, while my own father was growing up barely 5 miles down the road...that sometimes my dad still sees John's older brother Tom (who is 92, by the way) at the gym...it's all just quite remarkable, isn't it?

I can't quite put my finger on it, but I've become just captivated with John Doar's story. I think it's about a shared sense of place. Even if the sharing was decades and decades apart. It's about knowing that this great man--this great citizen--and I share roots in the same community.

John Doar wasn't supposed to be famous...he wasn't an athlete or a movie star. He wasn't even a well-known politician. John Doar was a lawyer. He was a man who stood in a street where bottles were being thrown and bullets were about to fly, and he stopped a riot...or maybe even a massacre. John Doar, in so many instances in his life, displayed bravery and conviction.

I think that's the part I admire the most. John Doar did what he did because "it was the right thing to do." He didn't go searching out a role in the Civil Rights movement to act out some noble pursuit. But when he found himself in a position of privilege and power, he chose to act, "We just knew viscerally that we were doing something that was awfully important," he said. "We weren't trying to be heroes. At the same time, all of us realized that when our lives were almost over, we wanted to be able to look back and say, 'we did our best: we worked as hard and as long as we could,' " (Linder, 2002).

Since I started my quest to learn more about the Civil Rights movement, I've been struck by the courage of regular people, just living their lives, who chose to be brave...who chose to confront injustice...at any cost. As I've expressed before, this dedication is absolutely inspirational...and it makes me wonder if I would have possessed (and if I do possess) what it takes to step forward and do the right thing. To what extent am I, as a human being who claims to care about equity and justice, willing to actually do what it takes to impact real change?

"Doing the right thing" turned a man from lily-white New Richmond, Wisconsin--my hometown--into one of the most celebrated members of the American Civil Rights movement. John Doar was not striving for fame...he wasn't trying to be a hero. Sometimes, doing the right thing takes you down roads you'd never imagine traveling...and changes the course of history.

 _______________________

I'd like to thank University of Missouri - Kansas City School of Law professor, Douglas O. Linder for his amazing contributions to the preservation of John Doar's story. This essay and this website provided an absolute treasure trove of historical goodness. Reading Professor Linder's accounts of John Doar's time as a Civil Rights attorney proves (yet again) that we don't need Hollywood to re-create tall tales...we just need to visit our own past. History is the very best story-teller.

(Linder, D. O., (2002), Bending Toward Justice: John Doar and the Mississippi Burning Trial. Mississippi Law Journal, 72(2).)

Also, Craig Gilbert, of the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, wrote a fantastic piece about John Doar back in 2009. This was yet another of the gems I happened upon as I dug around online. I am so grateful that there are people like Mr. Gilbert who took the time to share the story of John Doar's contributions to our world.

(Gilbert, C., Doar Stood Tall in Fight for Civil Rights in South, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, August 9, 2009.)

Lighting Candles: Books Come to Life

For all the bibliophiles in my life (you know who you are)...this one's for you. I promise you won't see anything cooler than this today.

Talk about the perfect way of expressing the magic of reading...the way books bring stories to life and connect us to ideas and emotions and characters and places we would otherwise never experience. This is artful and whimsical and joyful. I loved it. And I know you will too.




(Here's the actual YouTube link...should allow you to watch a larger format of the video.)

A (Phone) Call to Action

I'm about to do something I absolutely hate doing. Something that--just thinking about it--causes me more than a little bit of anxiety.

I'm about to commit to spending 3 hours a week (at least...for now) calling people I don't know...many of whom aren't expecting my call.

I am going to volunteer as part of the Phone Bank at Minnesotans United for All Families. Originally, when I'd decided to dedicate much of my 2012 to fighting the "Marriage Amendment," I hoped I'd be able to do things like filing or collating. Maybe I could even be the person who helped mail out the yard signs and bumper stickers. Maybe I could help organize databases and phone lists.

Anything but calling people. Anything but putting myself into a situation where strangers yell at me because I'm disturbing them during dinner. Or because they think I'm some pushy liberal, trying to impose my views on the general populace. (Hey, it is what it is.) Or because it's an issue that they don't want to talk about on the phone...with a stranger.

But as I looked at the upcoming events for volunteers, the only help they really seemed to need (at least for now) is with the phone banks.

So I had a choice to make...which feeling was going to win out? My extreme dislike of calling strangers on the phone? Or my desire to actively participate in the defeat of this disgusting piece of political maneuvering?

There are countless reasons I support the defeat of the constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriage in the state of Minnesota. There is a ridiculous amount of evidence I could use to paint a picture to explain my support And there is just as much evidence for why I will support (when that becomes the next step in the fight) the legalization of same-sex marriage.

I could wax philosophically about civil rights and equal treatment under the law.

I could cynically reference failed celebrity relationships and measure my own marriage in Kardashian Units (26.6 as of this posting).

I could glow about the inspiration provided by the rock-solid relationships (and rock-star parenting) of my closest gay friends.

But if I had to sum up all my motivation it would come from this sequence of very personal moments:

One night, when Jay and I were in the midst of wedding planning back in the summer of 2006, we were out walking on Summit Avenue. We were talking about various details...about going to get the marriage license and such...and I broached the topic of both of us taking each others' names...but ultimately just using our own. So it would be more of a symbolic name-change than a practical one...on that piece of paper, we would share our last names, but on everything else, life would just go on per our usual.

He already knew I wasn't planning on taking his last name...or even hyphenating my own last name. I'd made that point perfectly clear very early in our relationship. I like being a Ronning. A lot. And getting myself legally ensnared with him wasn't going to change any of that.

So I proposed this "everybody-takes-all-the-names" idea.

And do you know what my sweet, Sweet Jay said?

No.

He said no to me.

He never says no to me. Well...only when I try to tweeze his eyebrows. But that's about it.

At first, I was mostly just shocked and indignant. I really thought he'd agree with me on this one. Jay is, if nothing, all about the symbolism. And I was probably also a little cranky that I wasn't getting my way. Then I was mad...and hurt. I couldn't believe that this man that I knew to be so generous and loving and progressive was being so obstinate and inarticulate about his rationale. He wasn't arguing that I should take his name. He was just flat-out refusing to take mine. And for no good reason. He was saying things like "I just don't feel like I could do that," and "I don't know how that would work." This from the guy who might as well have the phrase "Anything is possible," tattooed right onto his beating heart.

I don't really remember how the conversation ended. We didn't get into a fight about it. I guess there were enough other things to worry about as the wedding drew nearer. And I probably figured that since I wasn't open to solely taking his last name or even hyphenating my own, well, then I ought to let him make his own decisions about his name.

So that was it. We never talked about it again.

Fast forward to the day we went to the Ramsey County Vital Records building (as dreary and uninspired as its name suggests) to apply for our marriage license. The clerk handed the form to Jay...I stood nearby while Jay completed his part of the form. I remember thinking it was such a sad room/lobby in which to fill out such a meaningful document. "Here you go," Jay said, as he slid the piece of paper over to me.

I took the pen from him and prepared to write in my information. And there, in Jay's familiar handwriting I saw what he'd written. The spaces in the form for first and last names were just as you'd expect them to be...complete with his first and last name...but in the space for middle name, he'd written his middle name and my last name.

It took a long second for me to realize what it all meant. I blinked at the form a couple times, before all my synapses fired in comprehension. I looked up at him with tear-filled eyes...and there he was, with tear-filled eyes. "Were you planning this all along?" I whispered. He nodded, smiling.

Tricky, that guy.

It was a beautiful moment. And I'm sure the Vital Records clerk appreciated all the tears and snot as I handed him the form (Jay with two middle names and me with two last names) and wrote my check for our marriage license fee (minus the discount for all the pre-marriage counseling we did).

That story--and the comically sad ambiance--should be the only thing I remember about that day. But it isn't.

The other thing that I remember...the thing that fuels this post and makes me feel sad and icky and angry, whenever I think back to that day...is when the clerk asked, before he could process our paperwork, (something along the lines of...and because he had to) "Do you swear that one of you is a man and one of you is a woman?"

Augh.

As intimate and beautiful as everything before had been, that question absolutely tainted the experience. It was an indelible stain on that moment. The grossness of having to answer that question absolutely outweighed the significance of that first step of our commitment to one another.

The ugliness of that moment is still fresh in my consciousness.

So I will make phone calls to people I don't know.

I will fight the attempt by the Minnesota G.O.P. to fill our state's constitution with hatred and bigotry. I will join with other Minnesotans, Democrats and Republicans alike, to defeat this proposed amendment.

I will put my unnecessary, ridiculous fear in perspective, as I think about the sacrifices that others made in the name of advancing the rights of all people.

I will dedicate time to making sure that someday, once we clear this first sizable hurdle, all Minnesotans have an opportunity to stand in dreary county buildings, sharing beautiful moments with the person they love most.