Mr. Douglass, What Would You Do?

The man on the left of this picture, holding the maps, is my grandfather, Mr. Leland S. Douglass. When this picture was taken in 1968, he worked with farmers in Williamsburg County, South Carolina. His official title: Head Administrator for the Williamsburg County Agricultural Stabilization and Conservation Service. His job: handling tobacco programs and other crop management projects that the government was involved in, including building ponds and drainage ditches as is depicted in this picture.

Leland S. Douglass, with farmers in Williamsburg County, South Carolina. Circa 1968.

Anyone familiar with United States history knows that 1968, the time this picture was taken, was a time when we were in the midst of re-evaluating our views about race relationships in our country and particularly in the South. I very clearly remember that time where segregation was the norm. I remember seeing the sign for the colored beach and the white beach. There were white restaurants and “span” or colored restaurants. White people didn’t shop in the same stores as black people. Black people didn’t go to the same churches as white people. As a country, we've had times when we behaved better.

When the tone started to shift toward civil rights and integration, everyone – whites and blacks – were nervous about what the changes would bring. It was a time of confusion, anxiety, and fear that often manifested itself as anger. The whole country was watching to see what would happen in the South.

I was a child when we started changing that world, so I had time to grow up with new norms and viewpoints. But my grandfather had grown up in a world where the rules of living were set and accepted into blacks on one side and whites on the other. By the time his world started to change he was in his late forties. It would be easy to expect that he would be very set in his ways and would be resistant to this change.

But that wasn’t my grandfather.

As a Deacon in Williamsburg Presbyterian Church, he was a leader. And he was part of a congregational meeting one Sunday where the topic of integration came up. People asked, “What will we do if a black person wants to become a member of our congregation? What will we do if a black person walks into our sanctuary one Sunday and sits down in a pew?”

Some said they wouldn’t accept it. Some said they would get up and walk out.

Then someone asked, “Mr. Douglass, what would you do?”

My grandfather pondered the question. Then he answered quietly, “I would welcome him, shake his hand, and invite him to sit with me.”

I'll pause a moment to let you imagine the import of that moment; the impact of that statement in a time and place where a comment like that required no small bit of courage.

His simple yet profound statement sets an example for us of quiet kindness in a world full of noisy squabbling and contention; where many people talk but few listen, where people take sides rather than come together as human beings living on the same planet. I am proud to call him my grandfather.

At around the same time this picture was taken, my father was invited to join the Ku Klux Klan. He respectfully declined, telling them that he thought he could probably find something better to do with his time.

Neither one of these men were afraid to act consistently with their core values of integrity and respect for the differences - and similarities - we all share, race notwithstanding.

We could use a little more of that these days.