REMARKS OF MAURICE A. BARBOZA

SEMINAR ON HISTORICAL TOURISM -- PARTNERS FOR LIVABLE PLACES

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, SEPTEMBER 1988

I am honored to be here today. I really don't know what I'm doing here though. I'm not an historian. I'm not a museum specialist. I'm not even a genealogist. I'm not a public relations person. I'm not a lot of things that I had to become in order to get The Black Revolutionary War Patriots Memorial underway and to steer it to this point.

What I am is a person who got angry. I got angry about the things that happened to me as I searched for and uncovered my American roots. No doubt that is what fueled what I will tell you this afternoon and what forced me to grow.

For the past decade, I have been on a journey into history, into my family background and into myself. Sometimes it seems as if I have been running in place, yet I know that I have been moved deeply by it all. What started out as a simple search for my roots turned into a test of myself and of those roots. I want to share with you some of my experiences -- the ups and downs, the obstacles along the way.

My grandmother, Ida Gay Santos, was the only one of my grandparents born in the United States. Therefore, she was my only ancestral connection to American history beyond her own generation. There were many unanswered questions that had intrigued me since my earliest childhood and, increasingly, since her death in 1975. But I either lacked the courage or the good sense to intrude on what I thought was this quiet woman's domain. I know now that I was mistaken.

My grandmother probably would have welcomed the intrusion. But what could she have told me? Would it have quenched my curiosity and made the building of The Patriots Memorial and my being here unlikely? Perhaps.

Ida Gay was the only natural child of devoted parents. Her mother was a black Virginia woman. Her father was a white Maine sea captain. My earliest memories of my grandmother's house in Plainville, Connecticut, the town where I grew up, were of an old photograph that hung on the living room wall of her grandfather dressed in a Civil War uniform. All I knew was his last name, that he was her grandfather and that he had died during the Civil War.

The U.S. Archives is a really wonderful place. It is like an old attic where time sometimes bows to curiosity and persistence. I found that curiosity can hold you like a ghost's embrace until you have found what you didn't know you were searching for. The "old attic" yielded my great great grandfather's name, John Curtis Gay, and a military record thick with information. I was embraced! The search became an obsession. Time didn't matter.

I spent months scanning miles of microfilm and hundreds of pages of yellowed records. I had finally identified the places where four generations of my white ancestors, and three generations of my black ancestors, had lived. In search of the smallest bits of information, I visited museums, libraries and town halls, from Maine to Virginia.

Later, a cousin of my grandmother would tell me that his grandfather, my black great great grandfather, had also served in the Union Army. Now I had two Civil War ancestors, one black and one white, an interesting irony. Eventually, I traced my white ancestors to the American Revolution and to colonial America of the 1630s.

Doing genealogical research at the Richmond Archives on my black ancestors was a contrast to my success in uncovering records on my white ancestors. The records seemed to be elusive or just not there. The staff was ignorant of fundamental facts, such as the identity of black cemeteries and churches. Even the black churches I found on my own claimed to have no records of those generations.

In early 1980, I met Charles Blockson, a noted black book collector, genealogist and author, at a Black History Month program where I worked. After I explained to him what I had found out about my family, he suggested that I have my genealogical research certified by becoming a member of the Sons of the American Revolution. I had never heard of the organization. Yet five months after filing an application for membership, I was welcomed warmly into the District of Columbia Society.

Weeks later, after showing pictures and other information about my trips around New England and the South to my three aunts who live in Washington, I suggested to one of them, Lena Santos Ferguson, that she join the Daughters of the American Revolution. The requirements for membership are identical to those of the SAR. The DAR merely had to verify my membership and Lena's parentage by my grandmother -- her mother. It should have been routine. But it wasn't.

I had heard of the DAR and was well aware of its reputation. I had, of course, heard of Marian Anderson, the great black opera singer, who was snubbed by the organization when her manager tried to book Constitution Hall for an Easter Sunday concert in 1939. My mother had spoken often of this well-known incident. However, it never occurred to me that the DAR would in 1980 try to bar a black person, who happened to be my aunt, from becoming a member solely because of her race. It did occur to Lena though. Ironically, it was at the DAR library two years before that I found crucial information that linked two generations of my family and allowed me to trace my ancestry to the Revolution.

Despite a wonderful opportunity to jettison the negative parts of its reputation, the DAR tried to frustrate my aunt's application at every turn. Months melted into years. No one would come forward to be her sponsor or to tell her how to find one. Once she found the first sponsor, it was a chore finding the second one. When she did, the local chapter her sponsors belonged to refused to accept her papers. The national society ignored her pleas for help, as her sponsors, Margaret Johnston and Elizabeth Thompson, and she tried to work inside the organization to force the Mary Washington Chapter (one of 39 local chapters in the predominantly black District of Columbia) to be responsive.

I was under no obligation, as they were, to be diplomatic. My displeasure grew rapidly and I was compelled to take action. I began to call newspaper reporters to recount the horrible story. They were uninterested to my surprise and dismay. I couldn't even get the attention of the local papers in Connecticut, where my aunt and I grew up. Initially, the same was true for conversations with writers at The Washington Post and The New York Times. Later, in 1982, The Post published a story, which helped my aunt secure her second sponsor and led to the DAR's taking her in as a member-at-large (a category reserved for those who cannot attend meetings) but not as a member of a chapter.

One Saturday in late 1983, I spotted an article in The Post about a controversy that was broiling within the DAR. Apparently, an outgoing official of the organization had published a DAR-sponsored cookbook and the new President General excised references to her in the book. The story got highly visible coverage. Now that was really something you could sink your teeth into.

Early the following Monday, I called the writer, investigative reporter Ron Kessler, but had no success in convincing him of the story's merit either during that first conversation or the second and third ones that followed. I had my aunt call him eventually. Finally, he told us to come by his office at The Post to talk further. We explained the entire story as he buzzed away on his word processor, one finger at a time. We could see his fascination. Two hours into the conversation, Lena was photographed -- a sign that the story might make the paper. A couple of days later, Ron called to say that the article was finished and that his editor had read it. "It's going on the front page," he said.

The article, "Black Unable to Join Local DAR," did indeed appear on the front page of The Washington Post in March 1984. From then on the Today Show, Hour Magazine, 60 Minutes and a host of other media interviews and appearances turned my aunt into a celebrity for a few months. As the battle waged on, there were many bizarre turns and twists. Although there were 39 chapters in Washington, the DAR suggested to my aunt at one point that she form her own chapter. The media steadily churned out stories about the unfolding controversy. The DAR was placed under enormous pressure. This heightened as the chances increased that they could jeopardize their valuable nonprofit tax exemption in the District of Columbia.

When the DAR was finally prepared to find a chapter for my aunt, she said, "Hold it. I'm not going to join your organization until you agree to do a few things. You put me through an ordeal over the last four years. It took my nephew just five months to join the SAR."

We wrote a list of objectives we wanted the DAR to undertake before Lena would consent to become a member. We didn't want to sue the organization. We didn't want any money from them in the form of damages. A powerhouse Washington law firm, Hogan and Hartson, took on the case pro bono and negotiated successfully a written settlement agreement with the DAR. Among other things, the agreement requires the organization to bar discrimination in membership and print a brochure notifying black and minority women that they are welcome as members regardless of whether they are descended from a white or black soldier of the Revolution.

As far as we were concerned that was not enough. The DAR had an historic problem with race, which misleads Americans into thinking that blacks played no part in the nation's birth. We were determined to force the organization to counter this false notion -- something that would cost money and take considerable effort. To my surprise they agreed to identify every black who served in the American Revolution, a project that is going on right now -- four years later. And we are pushing them to finish it. They have published research on Rhode Island's black soldiers. Apparently they are close to doing so for Massachusetts. They are taking their sweet time, but eventually we will get them to honor their commitment.

When my aunt became a member of the organization, she was warmly received because she is a warm person and because she had struggled and won their respect. I think there were a lot of DAR members who just sat back and said, "Well, we'll have to go along with what the leadership wants." They didn't have the courage to come forward and say, "this is wrong." But when they saw what my aunt had done and that she was now one of them, it was easy for them to open their arms. She willingly reciprocated and put the past behind.

In late 1983, when it appeared that no one else would listen, I decided to take the story of my aunt's plight to Congress. I scheduled a meeting for us with Representative Nancy L. Johnson, who had been elected some months before to represent the district in Connecticut where Lena and I grew up. We had never met her before. But she was instantly fascinated by the story behind Lena's DAR battle and talked about how important it is for children to hear.

Rep. Johnson agreed to put a statement about our family in the Congressional Record. Eventually, she gladly consented to introduce legislation to honor black service in the American Revolution. The resolution passed Congress unanimously in February 1984 and the President held a private signing ceremony for the three of us in late March. We were photographed in the Oval Office just a couple of weeks after The Washington Post article made the controversy front page news. The resolution and the ceremony demonstrated that blacks were "there too" and that there were some pretty powerful people in sympathy with Lena.

All of this made me realize more than ever how crazy the DAR's behavior was and how damaging it is to all Americans. Black people served the nation during the American Revolution. They struggled to break free of slavery and in the process helped to build the country and its institutions. Why aren't these facts portrayed in motion pictures and in textbooks? Why didn't I know when I was growing up that 180,000 blacks had served in the Civil War and that 5,000 had fought in the continental army. The questions upset me. The obvious answers made me angry.

Once the DAR controversy was behind us, I asked Rep. Johnson to sponsor a bill to establish a memorial to black soldiers and freedom seekers of the American Revolution. Her bill was introduced in the House of Representatives February 1985. Senator Albert Gore, Jr. became the Senate champion, introducing his bill in May of that year. Although I didn't know it at the time, I had enlisted myself into another four-year battle.

In February 1985, Lena, Margaret Johnston and I founded The Black Revolutionary War Patriots Foundation. Its purpose is to raise funds to build The Patriots Memorial. At the time, such an organization had to get a member of Congress to introduce a bill making available an unspecified piece of government land for the memorial. It would have five years to raise the money from private sources; otherwise entitlement to the land would be forfeited. Once approved by Congress, the organization had to win the Secretary of the Interior's approval of the specific site.

After our bill was introduced and approved by the House of Representatives, it got stalled. There was serious discussion about toughening the process. Some members even wanted to bar the construction of any new memorials on the Mall, which is where we wanted The Patriots Memorial to stand. We wanted to put the memorial in a place that would symbolize powerfully this untold story. We wanted to put it within view of DAR Constitution Hall. We wanted to put it in the middle of the Mall between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. There was a perfect spot to my surprise and there was nothing occupying it. It is at Constitution Gardens, just two blocks from the popular Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

The worst thing happened. A bill was introduced in the House to bar any further memorial construction on the Mall. That would have prevented us from securing the site we wanted. I began to contact members of the House Interior Committee and other representatives. I was invited to testify before the committee. Congressman Parren Mitchell and others sought an exemption for The Patriots Memorial.

Ultimately, the House and Senate decided to pass a law that does not bar construction of memorials on the Mall, but makes it so difficult to put one there that few would ever try. With no exemption provided in the bill for The Patriots Memorial, we were determined to push ahead in spite of the obstacles. On October 26, 1986, the President signed legislation to give the Foundation an unspecified memorial site somewhere in Washington, D.C.

That was just the beginning. The new procedure required us to convince the National Capital Memorial Commission, Fine Arts Commission, National Capital Planning Commission, National Park Service, Department of Defense, Secretary of the Interior and others to designate the history the memorial would honor to be of "preeminent historical and lasting significance to the nation" if we wanted the memorial to go on the Mall. This recommendation had to be endorsed by Congress and yet another bill approved. Still, we would not have the specific site.

In November 1987, the Interior Secretary's recommendation went to Congress. The Senate passed the bill without delay, but the House put us through another hearing before it would do so. The Congress approved a Mall site in March 1988. There had to be more hearings and consideration by the half dozen or so agencies to secure the specific site at Constitution Gardens. By July 1988, more than ten years after I had embarked on my genealogical research, the most visible land in America was set aside to build a memorial I had never dreamed of.

While all of this was happening, I had no office, no staff, no secretary, no copier and no contributions. But despite the overwhelming handicap and numerous obstacles, the project received national press coverage and substantial public praise. All the major newspapers, including the local ones that had ignored us originally, had by then written dozens of articles and editorials of support.

So now we have land at Constitution Gardens at the precise spot we sought from the beginning, between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. Its relationship to these symbols will tell of blacks' service in the Revolution and Civil War. Its relationship to the nearby memorial to the Signers of the Declaration of Independence will tell how blacks kept the spirit of that document alive and how they sought freedom from slavery, from the nation's birth. Its relationship to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial will tell how blacks have fought and died in all wars, from the Revolution to Vietnam.

This message will reach young people, old people and people who were denied this information in their American history courses in high school and college. This simple memorial will be a memorial for all time because it will tell the story of the continuing struggle for freedom. Tourists who come to this area in search of the nation's heritage are going to understand for the first time the contributions of black Americans.

As we embark on the formidable tasks of fundraising (up to $4 million in private money must be raised) and design, The Patriots Memorial's promise is already evident in the things we have accomplished. For example, on July 4, 1985, the DAR, the Prince Hall Masons, an organization founded by Prince Hall a black soldier of the Revolution, and other diverse groups joined together at Constitution Hall for a march of support to the proposed memorial site. The DAR had taken an important turn -- a lesson for us all.