Root of the riot

BY RANDY KREHBIEL World Staff Writer
Jan 30, 2000
1/20/13 at 8:51 AM


Top, the Greenwood district prospered in the years before the Tulsa race riot. Businessman John Williams is pictured in a 1911 Norwalk automobile with his wife, Loula, and son Bill , in this 1912 photo. Williams owned a garage on Greenwood Avenue and built a three-story brick building on the first floor, where the family opened a confectionary on the first floor, according to historian Scott Ellsworth. Bottom, looking north down Greenwood Avenue at Archer Street before 1921.
W.D. Williams / Courtesy photo (top)
Tulsa Historical Society (bottom)


Tulsa's racial tension, bigotry led to violence



Understanding the Tulsa riot of 1921 requires understanding the Tulsa of 1921.

The Chamber of Commerce called it the Magic City, and indeed it was. Tulsa had grown with breathtaking speed, powered by breathtaking wealth.

Tulsa's population increased more than tenfold between 1910 and 1920. But not all of those people were millionaires, and not all of them lived in mansions.

Beneath Tulsa's shimmering veneer lurked a rougher, tougher side revealed in an astounding case log at the county courthouse. By one estimate, 6 percent of the city was under indictment on the eve of the riot.

Amidst the churches and the civic clubs operated the vice and violence of an oil boomtown multiplied by the graft and capricious law enforcement of Prohibition. Add a pinch of the Old West, a dash of political vitriol and a generous portion of Jim Crow- era race relations, and it's a recipe for dozens dead and millions in damages.

Which is what Tulsa got.

"These forces reached the place of unrestraint, broke loose on a pretense, and thus swept down upon the good citizen with all the hate and revenge that has been smoldering for years," black Tulsan E.D. Loupe said shortly after the riot.



Racial tensions are nothing new

Tulsa was not the only place in America to reach the point of no return.

Indeed, rioting in America goes back to at least 1712, when 20 blacks and nine whites were killed in lower Manhattan.

Even riots started by other issues, such as the 1863 New York City draft riot, have had a way of turning into race wars.

Large-scale racial violence increased dramatically, however, beginning in about 1898, when a riot occurred in Wilmington, N.C. Others followed in New Orleans, Evansville, Ind., Atlanta and Springfield, Ill.

East St. Louis, Ill., in 1917, witnessed a particularly deadly outbreak in which at least 48 people were killed. That same year black soldiers and white civilians fought at Brownsville, Texas.

Also in 1917, the black section of Dewey, Okla., -- about 20 homes -- was burned.

Racial conflict reached an apex in 1919, when 25 major riots were reported in places ranging from Chicago to Elaine, Ark.

For every incident of mass mayhem were scores of individual violence.

Some 3,000 Americans, most of them black, were lynched between 1890 and 1920.

Many more were beaten, tarred and feathered and subjected to various other humiliations by the vigilante groups that sprang up in the early 20th century.

The most prominent of these was the reconstituted Ku Klux Klan, organized in Atlanta in 1915. In Tulsa, the black-hooded Knights of Liberty took the cat- o'-nine-tails to suspected reds, wife beaters and racial minglers.

Interestingly enough, though, while black lynchings were common in Oklahoma, none is known to have taken place in Tulsa County.

In 1919, when three black men were arrested for killing a white man, 200 blacks went to the county jail to guarantee the prisoners' safety.

Two years later, and after a white man in police custody had been lynched, blacks again went downtown to make sure nothing happened to Dick Rowland, a young black man accused of assaulting a white woman.

Such displays enraged certain whites, and it was this confluence of passions that touched off the Tulsa riot.

The crusading journalist Walter White, who came to Tulsa after the riot, made note of this.

"Dick Rowland was only an ordinary bootblack with no standing in the community," White wrote.

"But when his life was threatened by a mob of whites, every one of the Negroes of Tulsa, rich and poor, educated and illiterate, were willing to die to protect Dick Rowland."

White might not have been strictly accurate, but this defiance clearly pushed Tulsa past a "place of unrestraint."

How it got there is as much a part the riot's story as the riot itself.



Law and disorder

From its start in 1882, Tulsa was a haven for outlaws, gamblers, prostitutes and assorted shady characters. The city had no formal local law enforcement until 1898 and fairly erratic protection for decades after that.

By 1921, so many cars were being stolen in Tulsa that, according to one source, insurance was hard to get.

A federal undercover officer reported vice was "very bad" and operated "without any fear of the police."

Hotel porters frequently were nothing more than thinly disguised pimps, and cab drivers made their real money making "deliveries" for bootleggers.

The Tulsa Tribune instigated a state investigation of the police force that concluded less than two weeks before the riot.

The probe apparently did not result in any action, but it did cause Police Commissioner J.M. Adkinson to remark that probably two-thirds of the force should be fired.

The Tribune claimed Greenwood, policed by a few black officers who were not permitted to arrest whites, was home to the worst of the vice -- "a cesspool of iniquity and corruption" frequented by all races.

This may have been hyperbole, but blacks also complained of lax law enforcement.

"Choc" joints -- bars serving the home-brewed "Choctaw beer" -- speakeasies, dance halls, boarding houses and cheap hotels sat cheek-to-jowl with the cafes, laundries and other businesses that fanned out from Greenwood Avenue along both sides of Archer Street, the dividing line between white and black Tulsa.

"The lawless element of both races was so arrogant until it was dangerous for the best citizens to make protest," said Loupe.

At least three chiefs were removed from office before 1921, including one who assaulted a newspaper editor and then swore out a warrant for his own arrest. Another one of the three subsequently served four years in prison for shooting to death two U.S. deputy marshals.

Even good police chiefs changed just about every time the mayor did -- usually every two years -- as did a substantial portion of the force. Sheriffs answered to the whims of an electorate more or less evenly divided between Republicans and Democrats.

"Law enforcement" apparently included political and personal harassment.

The U.S. deputy marshals shot by the ex-police chief were attempting to search his house without a warrant -- something they seemed to be doing on a regular basis.

In 1917, a number of organizers for the radical Industrial Workers of the World, arrested and convicted on the flimsiest of charges, said they were taken out of town by police wearing the black robes of the Knights of Liberty.

The Wobblies were then whipped and tarred and feathered.

Police reached the height of official ineffectualness in August 1920, when 50 masked men took suspected murderer Roy Belton, who was white, from the third- floor jail of the county courthouse and lynched him.

According to published re ports, local law officers arrived at the scene well before Belton's death, but instead of interfering began directing traffic. The police chief, John Gustafson, said there wasn't much else they could do.



Politics as usual

When T.D. Evans died in 1948, newspaper stories did not mention he was mayor of Tulsa during the riot.

Instead, they focused on his role in pushing the Spavinaw water project.

For most of its first 40 years, Tulsa did not have a reliable water supply.

The Arkansas River was, as they say, too thin to plow and too thick to drink, and wells proved inadequate. By 1921 the city was depending on bottled water.

Two plans were brought forward to solve the problem. One, favored by Charles Page and other civic leaders, involved building a dam on a stream near Sand Springs.

It was the cheaper of the two but would produce less water. The other plan, backed by Tulsa World publisher Eugene Lorton, was more complicated -- and expensive.

Lorton advocated damming Spavinaw Creek, 90 miles to the northeast, and piping the water to a city reservoir.

Evans was a Lorton ally. Prior to his term as mayor, Evans had been a judge with anti-labor views similar to the World's. During his 1920 mayoral campaign, Evans promised to push the Spavinaw project through, and he did.

In the months leading up to the riot, the Tribune -- recently merged with Page's Tulsa Democrat -- relentlessly flogged Evans, a Republican, as well as Police Chief Gustafson and Police Commissioner Adkinson.

The World defended them. When the Tribune used political connections to orchestrate an investigation of the police department, the World countered with stories favorable to the police.

So, when the Tribune's now-famous report of Rowland's alleged assault appeared, it may have been intended not so much as racial provocation (which it nonetheless was), but as an attack on its business competitor and political foes.

Among other curious sidelights is this: blacks in 1921 were still more likely to vote Republican than Democratic, especially in Oklahoma.

In theory, that put them in Evans' camp, although Evans does not seem to have acted in black Tulsans' best interest.

Nevertheless, for whatever it's worth, one of the city's few prominent black Democrats, publisher A.J. Smitherman, wound up taking the brunt of official blame for the riot.



Separate but unequal

William ``Alfalfa Bill'' Murray, principle author of Oklahoma's constitution and first speaker of the state House of Representatives, said his primary objective was to protect the new state from "The Three C's."

These stood for carpetbaggers, corporations and a racial epithet derived from the truncated name of a certain forest animal.

Such open racism was typical, both in 1907 when Murray helped write some of the nation's most rigid racial laws and in 1921 when "Little Africa" was white Tulsa's polite name for Greenwood but a cruder appellation -- one that today might cause a riot all by itself -- received more common use.

The Oklahoma City Times, after the riot, summed up what seems to have been prevailing white sentiment. It warned blacks to remember "there is but one dominant race in America."

Such thinking reached the highest levels. Woodrow Wilson, who as president of Princeton resisted the admission of blacks, segregated the federal government as president of the United States.

Before that, the U.S. Supreme Court had overturned the 1875 Civil Rights Act and sanctioned segregation with its 1896 "separate but equal" ruling in Plessy vs. Ferguson.

Eugenics -- the notion that some ethnic groups are inherently superior to others -- gained wide acceptance, even among scientists, and lent an air of legitimacy to exclusionary immigration policies and discrimination against non-white citizens.

Against this rose ever louder and more articulate protests.

The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People -- the NAACP -- was founded in 1909, followed by the Urban League in 1910, the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History in 1915 and the Universal Negro Improvement Association in 1916.

W.E.B. DuBois, James Weldon Johnson, Walter White and others inspired blacks and frightened whites with their speeches, essays and reporting. In 1916, William Pickens published "The New Negro," a collection of essays encouraging blacks to secure "full citizenship of this country."

In Tulsa, blacks had long en joyed an unusual degree of autonomy.

Greenwood's first developer, for instance, had been a black man, O.W. Gurley. By 1921, perhaps 10,000 blacks lived in the area bounded roughly by the Midland Valley Railroad tracks on the east, Archer on the south, Detroit on the west and Pine Street on the north.

Greenwood had its shadowy side, too.

Something called the African Blood Brotherhood may or may not have advocated violent insurrection at about the time of the riot.

The group never seems to have had a large following, though, and in any event Greenwood residents seemed to find their greatest pride in independence and self-reliance.

A city ordinance formally segregated Tulsa in 1916. The U.S. Supreme Court struck down such laws a year later, but Tulsa remained divided.

Yet for all the racial isolation and bigotry, toleration and even acceptance were not unknown.

Many blacks were housed and protected by whites, some of whom were complete strangers, during and after the riot.

If white Tulsa was slow to respond to the needs of black Tulsans as a group, evidence indicates that assistance came to them on a personal level.

Charles Page helped rebuild the homes of black residents. Architect J.C. Latimer was released from detention only after a young white man Latimer did not know identified Latimer as his brother-in-law.

Unfortunately, such examples of "brotherhood" were far too rare.

Although attempts to exclude blacks from their old neighborhood were foiled and Greenwood soon returned to its former glory, the memory of the riot and aftermath lingers.

A grand jury investigating the riot blamed blacks and recommended stricter segregation of the races rather than any sort of attempt at reconciliation.

In April 1922, more than 1,700 robed and hooded Klansmen marched for more than an hour through the streets of Tulsa. In 1923, Gov. Jack Walton placed the city under martial law because of Klan activity.

Only two people were convicted of any crime stemming from the riot.

Gustafson, who was among 87 indicted by the grand jury, was found guilty of dereliction of duty and an unrelated charge and removed from office.

Garfield Thompson, a black man, spent 30 days in jail for carrying a concealed weapon.

At least 32 other people, all white and all charged with grand larceny, went free.

According to Loren Gill, who wrote a 1946 master's degree thesis on the riot, all other charges were dropped "to alleviate the humiliation of the citizenry."

Randy Krehbiel, World staff writer, can be reached at 581-8365 or via e-mail at randy.krehbiel@tulsaworld.com .



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