Five "guides" who helped the "Community Journal" "Educate," "Advocate," and "Uplift"

I’m among those unique few whose vocation and life’s journey was preordained.

As strange as it may seem, I’ve never applied for a job. My career has been mapped out for me, and thus there’s never been any doubt about who and what I’m supposed to be, my supporting role in the play called life.

I was skipping school with a childhood friend when then--"Milwaukee Sentinel" reporter Rae Moore interviewed us for a column she authored. That led to an employment opportunity as copy boys at the morning daily, and my entry into the world of journalism. While in Vietnam I shot a photo of Sammy Davis, Jr., and wrote a short story that was picked up by "Jet" magazine. As a published "writer," I took advantage of military courses in photojournalism and upon completion of my enlistment, I majored in mass communications at UW-Milwaukee where I was recommended for an internship at the old "Milwaukee Star Times," along with Deborah Crosby, who later became managing editor of that publication. I soon became sports editor and two years later, managing editor.

In 1976, the "Star Times" was sold to the "Milwaukee Courier" and the "Community Journal" was born. Patricia Thomas, Jim Ewing, O.C. White and I co-founded the newspaper, which was published out of two adjoining apartments "offices" one block away from our current location at 3612 North King Drive.

Milwaukee was in transition as the nation celebrated its 200th anniversary. The federal courts had ordered the school system to "desegregate," allegations of police brutality and civil rights violations sparked mass demonstrations, and the walls of apartheid defined and divided the community. The status quo sought to sweep under the rug the abysmal state of affairs, and for the most part there was silence from the media. The "Community Journal" was created to fill a void, and in my eyes, to shake things up.

To say the early years provided a period of learning for me would be an understatement. It was true on-the-job training, not only in terms of my writing skills, but also as it relates to integrating my Black nationalistic philosophy.

I don’t know if Patricia Thomas, now Pattillo, fully understood the depth of my militancy. But she soon found out, and paid a price for her support as advertisers ran for the hills, and frequently Black politicians called for my castration.

As a student of the open housing marches and demonstrations in Norfolk and Jacksonville, I was impatient with the nonviolent civil rights philosophy and Black leadership that seemed content on a slow crawl toward freedom and equality. I was a follower of Malcolm X, H. Rap Brown and Huey P. Newton. I wanted immediate change, was intolerant of the status quo, and was but one step away from calling for a violent revolution. I wanted to meet police brutality head on, with armed resistance if necessary. I wanted to tear down the walls of apartheid with a sledgehammer.

I proposed a separate Black school district to teach our children from an African Centered perspective, exclusive support of Black businesses, community control over every institution located in the central city. I saw a conspiracy behind every bush. Fortunately, there were great men surrounding me who helped temper my enthusiasm, who groomed and mentored me. They taught me how to influence without hitting people over the head. In essence, they channeled my enthusiasm, forced me to reassess my battle plans, to learn the rules of warfare and to educate rather than preach. Sometimes you throw rocks against the castle wall, other times you sneak through the back door to disrupt from within. Most importantly, you educate the masses, and when necessary push and prod them.

In the three decades of its existence, that philosophy has resulted in substantial victories.
We’ve changed laws, started an educational revolution, opened the doors for Black business development, and orchestrated the election of progressive elected officials. We’ve fought crime, mentored children and helped people obtain jobs.

No one can say we have not impacted our community for the better, although it is obvious there is much, much more that needs to be done.

My role has been as facilitator, and frequently the tree shaker. My role was defined and frequently facilitated by a group of men whose shoulders I stand on.

They say God puts guides along your life’s journey who direct and sustain you as you navigate the maze called life. In my case, I was fortunate--and privileged--enough to walk in the shadow of great men, whose images come to mind as this publication celebrates its 31st anniversary.

Indeed, this paper probably would not be here, and I would not have matured into the man I have become had it not been for these role models, whose wisdom and perseverance sustained me over the years.

Five in particular come to mind; each of whom now live with our ancestors, but whose contributions live on.

There was Walter Jones, dubbed the "Dean of the Black Press," a true pioneer and consummate professional whose mentorship of dozens of journalists continues to be felt.

Walter’s loyalty and lifetime tenure with the Black Press spoke volumes about his commitment to the civil rights movement in general, and Black empowerment in particular.

I had served for more than 20 years and earned a dozen national journalism awards before Walter proclaimed that "I was ready."

I initially thought he was joking when he made that declaration, but for Walter it was about sacrifice and commitment, and until that point I hadn’t earned my wings, nor had I learned his simple lesson to "leave the preaching to the preachers, we’re about educating, advocating and uplifting."

Walter believed the Black Press served a distinctive role: we fought for the powerless, we educated and entertained, we used the power of the pen to advocate for change. And we should shoot straight, carefully choose our targets and always be above reproach. Change takes time. Tiny steps, versus long leaps. Patience is a virtue when you’re trying to tear down the high walls of apartheid.

Like Walter, Cal Paterson had put in two decades with the Black Press before joining the "Community Journal" family. Cal’s forte was sports, but he would occasionally write an ed-op piece or commentary to lament on a variety of subjects, including civil rights, Black apathy and Black history versus "his-story."

Known for his culinary skills and food column, "Cal’s Kitchen," he was also the MCJ’s fix-it man, and could just as easily tear down and rebuild a furnace as he could prepare a soul food meal. Cal didn’t possess a college degree, but could philosophize with the best of them, adding words of wisdom along with a stinging indictment of the Negrocracy or the neo-Nazis.

Cal saw his mission as building a bridge between the Black pioneers and the younger generation. There were lessons to be learned, benefits for the youth of our community to sit at the feet of their elders who if nothing else could provide them with a road map.

He often echoed an impression I first heard from my grandfather that has proved worthy of repeating: "education only teaches you how to spell experience."

Jimmy Ewing was best known for overcoming obstacles few would even attempt. Childhood polio left his body crippled, but couldn’t handicap his mind.

"There are no handicaps," he once told me, "just hurdles that make you stronger."

Jimmie Ewing never let his crutches slow him down.

As the advertising director for more than a decade, he laid the foundation for the paper’s solvency, challenging local businesses to support an institution that frequently chastised them for blocking the doors of opportunity for our readers. He brought value to the Black community, never allowing corporate America to deny the worth of Black America.

Reverend Ken Bowen served as the first and most tenured religious editor. A giant of a man whose booming voice still reverberates throughout our facility, he gave voice to the Black church and maintained the link between the spiritual and civil rights communities. Reverend Bowen was among those religious leaders who subscribed to the Martin Luther King, Jr., philosophy that pastoring did not end at the pulpit, and that clergy had an obligation to fight social injustices, just as Jesus fought for the poor. "We are the mirror of man’s souls," he explained, "we prepare them for a heavenly reward by what they do here on earth."

Reverend Bowen led a group of ministers who organized to raise funds for an African American cultural center. He understood the importance of giving Black Milwaukeeans a sense of cultural self-worth, pride in our heritage and history, grounded in knowledge that we are the chosen of God. It was Reverend Bowen who planted the seed in my mind that Black America is on a forty-year sojourn similar to the Jewish exodus, and for the same reasons.

The wisdom of his analogy continues to ring true in my mind.

Finally, there was my son Malik, who began working as a columnist for the MCJ while in middle school, building a bridge between Black local youth and those of us who thought we knew the answers to all of their questions, only to learn that sometimes it is the children who are the teachers.

Malik was born the same year the MCJ was founded, and literally grew up here, sitting at the feet of Black leadership, taking in the wisdom, sometimes questioning the tactics, assessing the strategies, quizzing the inquisitors.

At six or seven, he carried a sign in the bitter January cold outside of Marine Bank to protest that financial institution’s refusal to pay tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr. The demonstration was orchestrated by the MCJ, as were dozens of others that few knew about.

In high school and later in college, Malik organized Black students to fight for Black history programs, utilizing the lessons he learned while at the MCJ. He majored in education, and while a public and private school teacher would bring his students to the newspaper to learn about our operations, but more importantly to discuss the history we chronicled, events that paved the way for their educational opportunities.

Walter, Cal, Jimmie, Reverend Bowen and Malik individually and collectively made the MCJ what it is today, and me who I am. Their spirits will be present at the anniversary celebration this Sunday, for as the African adage goes, "we are because they were." Hotep.