I remember 1967. I remember a young catholic priest, Father Groppi. He spent weeks, months, advocating and marching, trying to get fair housing laws and to increase public transportation, education investment and health care into the inner city. Father Groppi was a south-sider who grew up in a large family.
My Pops had his medical practice on the south side. He was and remains a staunch Catholic. He met and supported Father Groppi in many things he did. He met him both through father Groppi's family, some of whom where my father's patients, and through my Dad's roommate at Notre Dame who went on to the priesthood as well, Father Hoff.
Father Groppi got my Dad to agree to devote two Saturday's a month to working at a clinic, and out of Dad's office, offering healthcare to deprived inner city women (read negroes), Dad being an OB.Gyn. I would go down with my Dad and I would box at a YMCA where Father Groppi had a program for the inner city kids while Dad did his thing. I remember thinking he, father Groppi, was a bit of a psycho. He would tell those kids that I, as a white suburban kid, represented what they would have to fight against all their lives. We would whip them into a frenzied froth and then turn them loose on me. He would have me go against several of these kids in a row, some often much larger. I hated him. He fostered dissent. I beat those kids and I mean I did not out box them, but I beat them as they would not stop even beyond sense they were so worked up by the Father. I had a bit of a gift for violence and mayhem. I did not get hurt, I got angry. I did not ever shy from contact. I was always smaller, and the only one who never got rest, but I beat those poor kids. It was sick. it was not healthy recreation for those kids or for me.
I remember telling my dad about the bouts. He found it hard to believe, at first, that a priest would give such direction. He had great faith in Priests.
Over the months Father Groppi started pushing at my Dad. Father Groppi thought my dad ought to provide abortions as part of his service. Of course they were illegal, and in my Dad's mind immoral (to this day he has never performed one unless the mother's live was truly in jeopardy.) Father Groppi had contempt for what he saw as my Dad's moral cowardice. He ended up pushing away my Dad's help, a cooperative ally doing good work, since that ally was not 100% in line with the Father's thinking. He was an irritatingly uncompromising man this Priest.
Father Groppi more or less repeated that pattern with Judge Serraphim, a fairly liberal, by Milwaukee standards, judge, who often, but not uniformly, agreed with some of the Father's advocacy. Father Groppi ended up repeatedly picketing the judge's home because the judge was in some organization that would not admit blacks, I can't remember if it was the elks or the royal Order of Water Buffaloes, or whatever. It was sad because Judge Seraphim actually advocated changing admission rules to the organization. Eventually Father Groppi's activities, uncompromising as they were backfired and Judge Seraphim, a sympathetic judge, was recused from some of Father Groppi's cases. The Father was tough on his friends.
The Father's uncompromising stances were standard for the time. Rhetoric was inflamed. The more whites fled to the suburbs the more the rhetoric grew. It was a self reinforcing loop. Which came first, the chicken or the egg I cannot say and do not have any theories on the matter, I just know that as rhetoric grew heated parties on all sides retrenched into their positions. The Father lead marches everyday, he having learned his craft from Martin Luther King. The Father however, was more inflammatory and confrontatory than King. For 200 nights the marches went on. (Interestingly some give Father Groppi great credit for the 1968 Fair Housing Act, I know I do.)
Other groups also were marching, black churches, Black Panthers, SDS. Elections and conventions were on the horizon. Tensions were high. Rumors rampant. Mayor Meyer was frightened and Chief Breyer was itching to show his resolve. Curfews went into place. Emergency services folks got I.D.'s in case they had to be cleared through roadblocks. Then they riots came. I think of them as being sparked down on 3rd and Cherry, or 3rd and North. Others have other theories, but cops were shot, blacks killed, houses burned, tanks rolled and after a week or so it was mostly over, though curfews and roadblocks remained in place for some weeks after.
In the midst of all of this my Dad got called into St. Luke's, a hospital then close to the near south side. I imagine it remains to this day. Seems a woman was caught up in some pushing and shoving in one of the riots. She was injured, 8 and a half months pregnant, and she was going to deliver her baby. She was concussed, had a broken leg, and a broken jaw. Speculation was that this may have been due to police activity.
When my Dad's beeper went off we were at Lackey and Joys, a boat place out in Brookfield. He took me with him. We got stopped once or twice on the way in, but nothing too serious, most of the disturbance was confined well to the north of I-94. We put the car, my mom's actually, in the Doctor's lot. My Dad did his thing while I drank hot chocolate in the Doctor's lounge, watched the color T.V., we did not yet have color, and occasionally wondered over to the observation lounge to watch the delivery, I had seen hundreds by then it being a not infrequent occurrence for me to be with my Dad when he did his Saturday rounds.
When Dad was done and in the locker room he was being interviewed by cops. They had some questions about her status, she having been in the riot. I remember Dad being pissed. He was not prepared to tell them when he might discharge the woman and they were insistent that he would. About then a few more cops arrived. Seems a disturbance had broken out outside the hospital. A few cars in the parking lot had been damaged. Windows broken and such. A few others had been overturned, one was set afire. It was ours. My Dad having been on call and having spent hours with a person who had not been his patient until the emergency call paid for his troubles with a burned out car.
My Pop had no qualms with raising his kids in the suburbs. If white flight was the problem or was a symptom after the problem was well germinated he did not care. He wanted safety and education for his family. He, well he never abandoned his practice down there on the near south side, but he did not have his family home in the City.
I remember talking to my Dad about this. I discussed his Catholic belief's his views of his obligations to others, and his actions. He stated he had his beliefs and principles, that he served them, but that among them were that he would protect his family. He told me then that he had already brought property in Canada, was donating regularly to McGill University, and had become adjunct staff at some associated hospital up there. He was preparing to move his family rather than have his sons go off to Viet Nam, another volatile issue of the day. He was a good man, a patriotic man, he was proud of his uncles who served and died in both theaters of WWII, but he also saw the world fairly clearly and he intended that his sons would not be drafted for that war.
The 60's were a tense and nutty time. It seems we may be returning to such volatility once again. I do not know that there are parallels or lessons from those days. I am not trying to draw any. I am merely remembering, triggered by current events.
Oh, father Groppi got his Bill, but at a national level not in Milwaukee. He left the priesthood, having married while a priest in defiance of the church. I heard he went into lobbying and then maybe the Episcopalian ministry, maybe. I have no recollection as to the fates of the Mayor and the Chief, though they seem maybe, in my memory to have served for a few more years at least. the judge, I cannot say what became of him.