Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power: Buffalo Politics, 1934-1997

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Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Buffalo Politics, 1934–1997

Neil Kraus

STATE UNIVERSITY

OF

NEW YORK PRESS

Published by State University of New York Press, Albany © 2000 State University of New York All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission. No part of this book may be stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. For information, address State University of New York Press, State University Plaza, Albany, N.Y. 12246 Production by Diane Ganeles Marketing by Patrick Durocher Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Kraus, Neil, 1968– Race, neighborhoods, and community power : Buffalo politics, 1934–1997 / Neil Kraus. p. cm. Revision of thesis (Ph. D.—State University of New York at Albany, 1998). Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-7914-4743-X (HC : acid free) — ISBN 0-7914-4744-8 (PB : acid free) 1. Buffalo (N.Y.)—Politics and government—20th century. 2. Buffalo (N.Y.)— Social policy. 3. Poverty—New York (State)—Buffalo. 4. Afro-Americans— Government policy—New York (State)—Buffalo. I. Title. F129.B857 K73 2000 974.7'97043—dc21 10 9

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To my parents, Donald and Noreen Kraus

Contents

Illustrations

ix

Preface and Acknowledgments

xi

Chapter 1: Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

1

Chapter 2: Buffalo and Western New York

27

Chapter 3: Race, Neighborhood Composition, and Representation

43

Chapter 4: Race and Public Housing Policy: The Early Years

65

Chapter 5: Urban Renewal and the East Side

85

Chapter 6: Urban Unrest, Suburban Growth, and the Birth of the Contemporary Ghetto

119

Chapter 7: Arthur v. Nyquist and the Emergence of Mayor Grifﬁn

149

Chapter 8: Nostalgia and Confrontation: The Grifﬁn Years

179

Chapter 9: Conclusions

213

Postscript

225

Methodological Appendix

229

vii

viii

Contents

Notes

231

References

273

Index

287

Illustrations

Figures Figure 1: Synthesis of Existing Models of Ghetto Formation Figure 2: Model of Ghetto Formation Incorporating Local Politics

6 22

Tables Table 2.1: Population of Buffalo and Erie County, 1930–1990

29

Table 2.2: Retail and Manufacturing Establishments in Erie County Located Within Buffalo, 1958–1987

29

Table 2.3: Poverty Rates for Persons in Buffalo and Western New York, 1970–1990, by Percent

33

Table 2.4: Poverty Rate for African Americans in Buffalo, 1980–1990, by Percent

33

Table 2.5: High Poverty Areas on Buffalo’s East Side by Census Tract, 1970–1990, by Percent

33

Table 2.6: Employment Trends in Buffalo, 1950–1990, by Percent

37

Table 3.1: Buffalo’s African American Population, 1930–1990

44

Table 3.2: Percentage of Buffalo’s African American Population Living on the Lower East Side, 1930–1990

45

Table 3.3: Racial Composition of Buffalo’s Lower East Side, 1930–1990

46

ix

x

Illustrations

Table 3.4: Buffalo Mayors, by Party and Years in Ofﬁce, 1934–1997

49

Table 3.5: Buffalo Common Council Membership, by Party and Race, 1952–1995

50

Table 3.6: Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority Board Membership, by Race, 1959–1976

54

Table 3.7: Buffalo Board of Education Membership, by Race, 1963–1976

55

Table 3.8: Buffalo Board of Redevelopment Membership, by Race, 1954–1961

56

Table 3.9: Buffalo Urban Renewal Board Membership, by Race, 1962–1973

57

Maps Map 2.1: Western New York

28

Map 2.2: The Neighborhoods of Buffalo

31

Map 2.3: High Poverty Areas in Buffalo, 1990

34

Map 3.1: Buffalo’s Lower East Side

47

Map 3.2: Common Council Districts in Buffalo, 1997

51

Map 3.3: Common Council Districts in Buffalo, 1950

52

Map 4.1: Public Housing in Buffalo, 1953

67

Photographs 1. Marine Drive Apartments, 1999 2. Price Courts, 1999 3. Abandoned Building at Douglass Towers, 1999 4. Buffalo City Hall 5. Kenﬁeld Apartments, 1999 6. Ellicott Town Center, 1999

Preface and Acknowledgments

When I was growing up in Syracuse, I always considered Buffalo to be the closest “big city.” I knew little about the city, however, except that its best known industry was steel, and that the Bills played their home games in the suburb of Orchard Park. When my brother moved there in 1988, I began to go to Buffalo more regularly, and over the next several years became much more familiar with the city and surrounding areas. When it came time to choose a city to study for my Ph.D. dissertation at the State University of New York (SUNY) at Albany in 1994, I did some preliminary research on a handful of northeastern cities. The more I learned about Buffalo, the more I realized it would make an excellent case study. The city has an interesting, yet representative history, politically and otherwise. Yet when I began to research Buffalo, I was struck by the absence of academic research on the city’s politics. While one can ﬁnd scholarly books and articles on dozens of cities—both large and small—I was unable to ﬁnd any published work focusing speciﬁcally on Buffalo politics. The lack of existing research certainly made the prospect of a case study more time-consuming, but it also presented me with an excellent opportunity to tell a story that had not really been told. Thus I selected Buffalo as the subject of my research, and relocated there in the summer of 1995. Along the way, numerous people and institutions have assisted me in countless ways, and I would like to acknowledge many of them here. This project started with the assistance of U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development Doctoral Dissertation Research Grant #H-5998-SG, and many thanks go to HUD for providing me with this assistance. John Freie, professor of political science at LeMoyne College, played an instrumental role in my decision to pursue graduate study.

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Preface and Acknowledgments

John not only increased my interest in the study of politics when I was an undergraduate, but also helped to instill the conﬁdence necessary to be successful in graduate school. Over the last several years, John and his wife, Sue Behuniak, also a professor of political science at LeMoyne, have provided me with valuable support and advice on many occasions, and I thank them both. Numerous people in the Buffalo area deserve mention. I would ﬁrst like to thank the many current and former public ofﬁcials who agreed to be interviewed for the study upon which this book is based. Their cooperation is greatly appreciated. I would also like to thank the dozens of people in Buffalo and western New York who offered me their thoughts throughout the course of my research. When I moved to Buffalo in 1995, I had no idea that so many western New Yorkers would be interested in discussing their city with a stranger engaged in academic research. I gained quite a bit from all of these conversations, and this book is better because of them. The staff of the Buffalo and Erie County Public Library’s local history room provided me with critical assistance during the early stages of my research, in 1995 and 1996. Scott Gehl, executive director of Housing Opportunities Made Equal (HOME), gave me access to many of his ﬁles, and provided key facts and insights regarding several issues discussed in chapters 7 and 8. My brother, David Kraus, formerly an assistant dean of the college of arts and sciences at the University at Buffalo (SUNY), was extremely generous during my three years in Buffalo. His support allowed me to put my primary energies into research and writing, and for that I am very grateful. I would also like to thank the political science departments of Canisius College and Niagara University for hiring me as an adjunct assistant professor between 1996 and 1998. Teaching during this period provided me with an opportunity to explore some of my ﬁndings and arguments about Buffalo politics in a classroom setting with students who had some knowledge of the subject of my research. Maureen Jameson, associate professor of French at the University at Buffalo, has given me invaluable assistance. Maureen read and commented on several chapters, and I have beneﬁted greatly from her keen sense of language. In addition, her extensive knowledge of computer technology was essential in helping prepare the ﬁnal manuscript. Maureen was also responsible for taking the photographs included in the book. Most importantly, however, Maureen’s friendship and support throughout this project were critical. I owe her a large debt of gratitude.

Preface and Acknowledgments

xiii

The comments of two anonymous reviewers at SUNY Press were very helpful. While I did not incorporate all of their suggestions, this book is much improved because of their criticisms. Henry Sussman, professor of comparative literature at the University at Buffalo, also provided assistance at SUNY Press. I would also like to acknowledge the government department at St. Lawrence University, where I was a visiting faculty member during the 1998–99 academic year. Two people in particular at St. Lawrence deserve mention. Robert Wells, professor emeritus and department chair during 1998–99, provided me with key assistance on many occasions. And Calvin (Fred) Exoo, the department’s current chair, graciously gave me the use of his ofﬁce during his sabbatical leave. Many thanks also go to my current department chair at Hamline University, Joseph Peschek, for his support during the ﬁnal stages of the process. Several people at SUNY Albany deserve thanks. First and foremost, Todd Swanstrom has been an outstanding advisor. From the time I ﬁrst met Todd in a graduate seminar on urban politics in the spring of 1992, we have had seemingly countless conversations about a wide variety of political phenomena. Todd always encouraged me to pursue this project, beginning many years ago when I had a vague idea about the relationship between local government and ghetto formation. His criticisms over the years have substantially improved my own work, and I have beneﬁted tremendously from having to meet his high standards. In the process, he has become a good friend. I owe him many thanks. Nancy Denton, of the sociology department at Albany, has also been extremely helpful. Nancy kindly agreed to be a member of my dissertation committee, and her enthusiasm made the task of creating this book substantially less daunting and ultimately more rewarding. And as the reader will quickly notice, her work on residential segregation is very inﬂuential on many of my own arguments. Jose Cruz and Bruce Miroff of the political science department have also given me assistance. Jose and Bruce provided me with instructive comments, and were excellent people with whom to work. In addition, I would like to acknowledge several friends in the graduate program in political science at SUNY Albany. Two people in particular have inﬂuenced my thinking on a wide variety of political subjects—Kevin Cameron and Eric Ziegelmayer. Over the past several years, Kevin and Eric have introduced me to new ways of looking at politics, thus helped to expand my thinking on a large number of issues. In addition, on many occasions, Phil

xiv

Preface and Acknowledgments

Nicholas and Lance Denning have provided feedback on my ideas, and I have beneﬁted from knowing both of them. My sister and brother-in-law, Eileen and William Lynch, have provided assistance and support over the past several years, and I am grateful to them. But most of all, I would like to thank my parents, Donald and Noreen Kraus. Their constant encouragement of and belief in me, especially during my many years of graduate study, has been truly amazing. I could not have done this without their love and support. It is for these reasons that I dedicate this book to them.

1 Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

On December 14, 1995, Cynthia Wiggins, a seventeen-yearold African American girl, was on her way to her job at the Walden Galleria, a large shopping mall in the town of Cheektowaga, a suburb to the east of Buffalo, one of the most segregated cities in the United States.1 She was riding the number six bus, which arrives at the Galleria via Sycamore Street, through the heart of Buffalo’s east side, a neighborhood which most of the population not only never directly sees, but deliberately avoids. When the mall was constructed, its owner, Pyramid Companies, adopted a policy which prohibited all buses coming from Buffalo from pulling up adjacent to the mall’s entrances to drop off and pick up passengers. Rather, buses to and from the city were forced to stop and let passengers off on Walden Avenue, making riders cross several lanes of almost constantly heavy trafﬁc. On her way across Walden on December 14, Cynthia Wiggins was struck by a dump truck. She died a few weeks later from the accident. Only under the threat of a boycott issued by local civil rights groups and a teachers’ organization did the mall agree to change its policy and allow all buses to pull up adjacent to the entrances to load and unload passengers. In many respects, this tragic incident, which created not only extensive local debate but was also covered by the national media, symbolized the predicament of many residents of segregated, lower income urban neighborhoods today. Despite the common assumption, one that is frequently heard during discussions of social welfare or urban policy, that low-wage jobs are available basically everywhere, the fact is that many urban residents have to travel signiﬁcant distances to have access even to low paying, service sector jobs. The lack of opportunity currently present in many lower income urban areas is certainly one of the major causes of their high levels of unemployment, underemployment, and poverty. But these problems have not been produced by autonomous economic

1

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Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

change. Because of the persistent discrimination faced by African Americans, there have been no free markets at work in housing, education, or employment in the Buffalo area over the past several decades. It should not be expected, therefore, that free markets can or will begin to address the many problems associated with ghetto formation. Remedying concentrated urban poverty is certainly a very complicated task, but policy should be informed from a perspective which recognizes that racial discrimination is the root of the problem.

Background

The Problem of Concentrated Urban Poverty This book is about the relationships among race, neighborhoods, and local political decision-making in Buffalo, New York, from the 1930s through the 1990s. The basic argument is that both race and location have played central roles in the politics of Buffalo. More speciﬁcally, numerous local policy decisions over the last several decades have been driven by the forces of race and location, and have reﬂected and indeed reinforced the distribution of power within the community. The city’s residential patterns, particularly the segregation of neighborhoods, have been an important element of the local policy-making process, as well as a result of a variety of local policies. The development of ghetto neighborhoods, and their attendant problems, has been closely connected to the local decision-making process. The problem of concentrated urban poverty, or what many have labeled the urban “underclass,” has been the subject of heated debate in recent years.2 Approximately eleven million individuals lived in the nation’s lowest income urban neighborhoods in 1990, the large majority of whom were members of minority groups.3 Roughly one in ﬁve African Americans, or six million persons, lived in ghetto neighborhoods in 1990. William Julius Wilson has summarized what has happened to poverty in cities over the past few decades: In sum, the 1970s and 1980s witnessed a sharp growth in the number of census tracts classiﬁed as ghetto poverty areas, an increased concentration of the poor in these ar-

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

3

eas, and sharply divergent patterns of poverty concentration between racial minorities and whites. One of the legacies of historic and class subjugation in America is a unique and growing concentration of minority residents in the most impoverished areas of the nation’s metropolises.4 Far from going unrecognized, the numerous effects of the concentration of poverty have received substantial scholarly and popular attention. After reviewing much of the literature on the subject, Myron Orﬁeld has succinctly afﬁrmed that: Individuals who live in concentrated poverty are far more likely to become pregnant as teenagers, to drop out of high school, and to remain jobless than their counterparts in socioeconomically mixed neighborhoods. . . . These factors interact with anger, frustration, isolation, boredom, and hopelessness, and create a synergism of disproportionate levels of crime, violence, and other anti-social behavior.5 Even in the lowest income areas, it must be noted, there are many employed people, and most residents are law abiding.6 Although members of the urban underclass tend to live in ghetto neighborhoods, one can by no means claim that all ghetto residents are members of the underclass.7 Subsequent chapters will establish that in Buffalo, poverty, unemployment, and crime are concentrated in predominantly African American east side residential locations, and that the segregation of the entire city has been a problem for many decades. Thus the presence of nonpoor residents in the most troubled neighborhoods does not minimize the many challenges faced by these neighborhoods in general and by the individuals who live in them. It is for these reasons that this book is about ghetto formation—the geographic concentration of poverty—and not about the development of the underclass. The phenomenon of concentrated urban poverty also has measurable effects on all urban and metropolitan residents and, in turn, shapes the national political debate. Quite simply, cities have become stereotyped as havens for a culture of poverty, an image which has made it politically possible to reduce or eliminate social programs, afﬁrmative action, and urban policies, while simultaneously reinforcing the expectation that free markets are the best method of dealing with urban problems. In this type of political environment, the supposed failure of these types of programs goes

4

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

increasingly unquestioned. And when programs which aid urban areas are scaled back, residents who live beyond the city limits also pay a price because an entire metropolitan region suffers when its central city deteriorates. David Rusk has made this point by illustrating that the smaller the income gap between a city and its suburbs, the greater the increase in jobs for the entire region.8 The implications of the existence of the ghetto today, then, are so substantial that it is imperative to carefully examine the processes which produced the lowest income neighborhoods, and thoughtfully reﬂect upon policy prescriptions to address contemporary urban problems. Different Explanations of the Phenomenon Several different analyses involving a variety of causal factors have been advanced to explain the emergence of concentrated urban poverty. Yet the variable of local politics has generally not been examined by scholars. The emphasis of more conservative scholars, such as Charles Murray, is the behavior and motivation of lowincome persons, linking chronic unemployment, out-of-wedlock births, and so forth, with increased federal social welfare programs.9 Although politically quite popular, such explanations are replete with unquestioned assumptions, and fail to address the fundamental issue of the context within which socially destructive behavior frequently occurs. Alternative approaches, the most well known of which has been articulated by Wilson, have tended to focus on structural factors associated with economic and demographic trends which have contributed to the lack of opportunity and mobility for minority individuals living in inner cities.10 The large movement of southern blacks to northern cities during the middle twentieth century, combined with the mass migration of whites to the suburbs and the loss of industry, led to conditions in which urban ghettos began to form. Wilson also argues that despite the many gains of the civil rights movement, one result of black advancement has been that middle and working-class African Americans have been more easily able to move out of historically black neighborhoods, thus leaving behind disproportionately large numbers of lowincome blacks to inhabit developing ghettos. In American Apartheid, Douglas Massey and Nancy Denton take a different approach by arguing that residential segregation has been the most signiﬁcant factor in the creation and perpetuation of geographically concentrated urban poverty. The fact that

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

5

the lowest income neighborhoods are made up largely of minorities points to the large role that racial segregation has played in their creation. In other words, Massey and Denton properly point out that the problem of the ghetto is ultimately a racial problem. The authors also mention that local political institutions have played a role in segregating neighborhoods, particularly in the area of public housing policy. A more comprehensive understanding of the origins of concentrated poverty, though, will require the exploration of the role that local political decision-making has played in the process of neighborhood change, as well as its relationship to residential segregation.11 Neighborhoods are pieces of land. And as Paul Peterson has afﬁrmed, “Urban politics is above all the politics of land use, and it is easy to see why. Land is the factor of production over which cities exercise the greatest control.”12 I suggest that the reason scholars of concentrated urban poverty have not considered the signiﬁcance of local politics is because of their lack of attention to land use powers in explaining the formation of ghetto neighborhoods as places.13 Once one concedes that very poor neighborhoods are, in fact, quite different today from what they were many years ago, one necessarily has to consider the dimension of local politics and community power. Scholars have generally begun their analyses by deﬁning the underclass as persons living in urban areas with high rates of poverty: ghetto residents. After establishing this deﬁnition—which points to speciﬁc locations—they then attempt to explain the phenomenon almost solely in national or regional terms. In other words, many analyses have failed to take advantage of their own concepts. The concept of place is the very reason why anyone started studying the evolution of the contemporary ghetto in the ﬁrst place. Beginning in the 1960s, the nation’s ghetto neighborhoods increasingly became places which were very distinct and distant from the rest of the city and suburbs. Rioting in dozens of urban ghettos in 1967 and 1968 made it painfully apparent that the emerging ghetto was becoming different not only from the rest of society, but, perhaps more signiﬁcantly, from the rest of the city, which was only a short distance away. Given this growing isolation of the nation’s lowest income neighborhoods, scholars began to ask: How did this happen?; and What should or could be done about the situation? Existing analyses of the emergence of the ghetto, then, tend to rely on national and regional economic and demographic trends, and national public policies as the main explanatory factors. National and regional economic and demographic trends are more useful in

6

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power Figure 1 Synthesis of Existing Models of Ghetto Formation

National/Regional Economic Trends

1.

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쑽 National Politics/ Policy

3.

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The Ghetto: —Concentrated Poverty —Segregation —Social Problems

쒀

National/Regional Demographic Trends

2.

쑺

1. Deindustrialization 2. Great Migration; Residential Segregation; Suburbanization 3. Civil Rights Movement; Social Welfare Policy

directly explaining national and regional changes in phenomena such as poverty and unemployment rates than in accounting for the transformation that has occurred in the nation’s ghetto neighborhoods. What follows is a brief discussion of the logical difﬁculties of trying to explain the development of concentrated urban poverty solely in national or regional terms. The trend that is most frequently associated with the development of concentrated urban poverty, and the one that is most forcefully argued by Wilson, is deindustrialization: the shift away from manufacturing and toward service-producing that has occurred

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

7

in urban areas throughout the United States, though most conspicuously in the northeast and midwest. There is no disputing the fact that deindustrialization occurred, and that it is still occurring. Yet to argue that it has been the primary cause of the creation of concentrated poverty is to beg the question. Ghetto neighborhoods are geographic areas of extreme poverty that consist almost exclusively of minority residents. To conclude that deindustrialization has been the primary creator of the new urban poverty, one would have to show that the industrial manufacturing jobs that have left U.S. cities historically employed large percentages of local minority populations. While the heavy industries of the northeast and midwest employed some African Americans, they mainly employed large numbers of white laborers. Heavy industry was a consistent source of employment for European immigrants. The distinguishing features of today’s ghettos can therefore scarcely be attributed solely to the decline in manufacturing jobs. The racial composition of the ghetto, indeed, suggests that racial discrimination, independent of economic restructuring, has been an important factor in the process of neighborhood change.14 The loss of a city’s manufacturing base, moreover, might be expected to lead to some sort of aggregate decline in wealth, which would be evident across neighborhood boundaries. While cities that have suffered the most from deindustrialization indisputably have lost population, northeastern and midwestern cities which have lost industry still possess many working, middle and even upper-income neighborhoods within their boundaries. Yet poverty is highly concentrated in predominantly African American neighborhoods, thus urban decline has been geographically speciﬁc. Further, there are numerous cities in the south and west which never had a strong base of industrial manufacturing, but today possess very low-income, largely minority neighborhoods. Here then is another indication of the empirical difﬁculties of attempting to link the emergence of concentrated urban poverty primarily with the loss of industry. Deindustrialization seems to be a better explanation of changes in urban and regional poverty generally than of the creation of the contemporary ghetto. The Great Migration of southern blacks to northern cities, post–World War II suburbanization, and deindustrialization, all became important factors in shaping the evolution of urban politics. But there is no necessary connection between these macropopulation and economic changes and the development of ghetto neighborhoods, nor indeed do these trends sufﬁce to account for ghetto development without the decisive inﬂuence of local politics.

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Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Demographic accounts of the underclass, such as Massey and Denton’s, are much more helpful than strictly economic arguments because they are based on the assumption that the problem of concentrated urban poverty has a signiﬁcant residential dimension. But discussing where people live leads to a partial understanding of concentrated poverty. Today’s ghettos house large numbers of low-income individuals, but they are also remarkable for what they lack, especially economic activity. Private businesses have, over time, either left these neighborhoods or chosen not to locate in them, creating the relatively low level of economic opportunity present in the more distressed urban neighborhoods today. Consideration of the impact of local policy decisions on the development of the ghetto, including the impact of local policies on residential and economic patterns within a city, can supplement existing explanations which focus on residential segregation. This approach to the issue of concentrated urban poverty is possible once the study of community power is formulated explicitly in terms of the variables of race and location.

Community Power and the Ghetto In arguing that the local decision-making process has substantially contributed to the existence of concentrated urban poverty, I maintain that race itself has been the primary source of conﬂict related to policies affecting residential neighborhood development. Scholars of community power, however, have not adequately addressed the degree to which race has inﬂuenced local politics and development.15 Dahl’s classic study of New Haven focuses on ethnic politics, and implicitly adopts the position that African Americans are analogous to other ethnic groups.16 Hunter discusses race in his analysis of Atlanta, which became the basis for elite theories of community power, but ultimately sees the inﬂuence of economic elites as being the critical factor for assessing local power, a position which emphasizes class over race.17 Bachrach and Baratz tell the story of Baltimore’s blacks struggling throughout the 1960s to get city council districts reapportioned.18 The authors’ application of the concept of nondecision-making, however, focuses exclusively on the political process. Since they do not connect the process with policies that shape land use and ghetto formation, they implicitly minimize the concrete impact of local decisions involving race.

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

9

Peterson’s economistic approach to community power, which has been the subject of substantial debate and criticism, fails to sufﬁciently address urban political conﬂict generally, let alone the substantial power of racism in decision-making and the impact of policies on African Americans.19 And although spending much of his book discussing the factor of race in the politics of Atlanta, Stone gives primary attention to the relationship between the business community and local ofﬁcials, thus deﬂecting attention away from questions related to how racial attitudes have impacted local decisionmaking.20 A recent historical study of Atlanta supports the notion that racist policies, have, in fact, been central to that city’s physical and institutional development.21 In addition, Richard Keiser’s examination of Atlanta politics gives substantial explanatory power to the racist attitudes of white elites by maintaining that biracial coalitions have formed not as a result of different cultural values, but rather because of the fact that white elites were forced to work with blacks because of the makeup of the city’s population: This chapter rejects claims that Atlanta’s business leaders were innately more ambitious or less racist than elsewhere. I also do not believe that Atlanta’s political and economic leaders conceded power when they were not forced to do so. They reﬂected southern racial attitudes and the typical business desire to advance their ﬁnancial interests, but their environment created a set of inducements and constraints that forced them to do more than pay lip service to ending segregation and empowering Blacks.22 These accounts place racial conﬂict at the center of inquiry, and thus present Atlanta politics in a different light than that of Stone. This is not to say that urban scholars have intentionally minimized the explanatory power of race, but rather that they have, especially in the last several years, focused their primary attention on the degree of inﬂuence that business wields in the local political arena. Race has generally been addressed in terms of issues related to electoral coalition-building and mayoral leadership, but not as an independent force, the signiﬁcance of which is evident throughout the policy-making process.23 A substantive goal of this book is to build on existing literature in urban politics by illustrating the extent to which race has permeated local political debate, and ultimately shaped policies which have affected residential neighborhood development.

10

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

By illustrating the magnitude of the inﬂuence of race, the signiﬁcance of the variable of location in local politics becomes apparent. Special attention will be paid to the residential patterns in Buffalo over the last several decades, and the role that these patterns have played in local decision-making. The creation and persistence of residential segregation has linked racial interests with the interests of particular places. Thus the characteristics of speciﬁc locations should be viewed not only as a product of decision-making, but also as an essential element of the political process, a method of utilizing power. In other words, the process of keeping African Americans conﬁned residentially has been about more than simply winning political debates about housing and schools. It has also been about limiting access to particular neighborhoods through the political process, and, in turn, minimizing African Americans’ contact with the structure of opportunity. Persistent segregation has also reinforced existing racial attitudes. As African Americans were kept out of a number of neighborhoods, the low level of interracial contact that resulted only hardened the racial attitudes of whites, thus intensifying existing stereotypes. Residential concentration makes it easier for any group to elect representatives in a system based on districs or wards. But the negative effects of ghetto formation have far outweighed any positive effects. For instance, intense patterns of segregation, which result in very high concentrations of African Americans in a handful of neighborhoods, actually reduce the potential for blacks to elect a number of legislators commensurate with the African American percentage of the city’s total population. The politics of race and the politics of place have been, and continue to be, fundamentally connected. When one emphasizes either race or place in evaluating community power, and draws out all of the implications of focusing entirely on that variable, one is necessarily led to the other variable since the two are so closely linked. By emphasizing the importance of the factors of race and location in the study of community power, I adopt one fundamental assumption of pluralist scholarship: that political decisions, either policies adopted or, in many cases, not adopted, by elected and appointed ofﬁcials have mattered, and continue to matter, and that looking at the institutions of government and the political decisionmaking process and its effects are important undertakings. Consequently, the primary focus of this book is on policies, not elections, which either implicitly or explicitly tend to be the main emphasis of much of the literature on race and local politics. Elections are

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

11

discussed, but only in relation to the policy-making process and as indicators of public opinion, not as independent subjects of inquiry. This is not meant to afﬁrm any theory of local state autonomy. Rather, I maintain that with regard to issues that have most affected neighborhood life in Buffalo, including policies involving public and private housing, redevelopment, and education, the local state has frequently expressed the will of the majority. Hence emphasizing the inﬂuence of private sector elites when analyzing residential neighborhood development is somewhat misplaced.24 In adopting some pluralist assumptions about methodology, however, my analysis differs from traditional pluralist thought in terms of interpreting historical events and intergroup relations. Almost all of the decisions in this book were made by elected and appointed ofﬁcials, and most occurred within the context of substantial public debate. The record clearly illustrates that since the 1930s, race has been the driving force behind a number of important policy decisions in Buffalo, with white majorities consistently winning out over black minorities. Unlike other ethnic groups, which have prospered once they have achieved sufﬁcient formal representation, African Americans have faced unremitting discrimination even after achieving adequate political representation.25 Political structures have played a critical role in ghetto formation. An undue emphasis on the autonomous preferences of individuals can lead to the conclusion that poor neighborhoods have developed as a result of microlevel decision-making, while other arguments describe ghettoization primarily as a result of macrolevel processes involving the restructuring of the larger economy. Both positions are empirically dubious. The racism of individuals, while clearly at the root of societal racism, is more powerful and ultimately more inﬂuential when expressed through political structures. While the control of private economic resources by whites in Buffalo and western New York has been and remains a critical component of the dilemma faced by the black community, this book seeks to demonstrate that white inﬂuence over local government has played a pivotal role in creating the ghetto conditions that exist in much of the east side today. Assessment of the inﬂuence of economic elites in the politics of cities like Buffalo requires an analytical distinction be made between issues relating to downtown (the central business district), and those issues relating mainly to residential neighborhoods. One such distinction is posited by regime theory, but it is based on the assumption that in order to maintain a regime, mayors must keep

12

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

neighborhood politics conﬁned to patronage and material incentives, thus away from policy-related questions, while simultaneously making downtown politics about policy, speciﬁcally development. One study of the Chicago regime of Mayor Richard J. Daley makes this point clear: By structuring the electoral arena around the distribution of material rewards and incentives, Daley kept electoral and neighborhood politics on an individual and issueless basis. . . . [T]he policy orientation and capital investment strategies, in dividing downtown and the neighborhoods, mirrored the political dichotomy between policy (economic development) and electoral (neighborhood) politics.26 Yet the assumption that growth-oriented mayors reduce electoral politics only to material incentives fails to consider the many policyrelated reasons for which city voters either support or oppose a particular mayor. For example, voters in Buffalo’s white workingclass neighborhoods supported Mayor James Grifﬁn for traditional reasons related to preferential service delivery and patronage, but also because of his positions on school desegregation, open housing, public housing, neighborhood development, and even cultural issues seemingly unrelated to local government such as abortion and homosexuality. Neighborhood support for a mayor who favors downtown interests, then, does not stem only from material incentives; it is also rooted in public policy positions related to a variety of phenomena, all of which affect residential neighborhood life, even if indirectly. White working-class support for a mayor who is tightly connected to the downtown business elite may appear superﬁcially to be a classic tradeoff based only on material incentives, but when examined closely, it contains a solid basis in policy preferences. Local government is inﬂuential in shaping both downtown and residential neighborhoods, yet in very different ways. This distinction between policies related to downtown versus those related to neighborhoods persists because in numerous smaller and medium-sized cities, of which Buffalo is an excellent example, downtown has never been much of a residential location. In addition, the majority of private elites who are inﬂuential in downtown issues live in the suburbs, and thus do not take an active interest in many issues affecting any of the city’s neighborhoods. Their indifference solidiﬁes the distinction between downtown and neighborhood poli-

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

13

tics. Two different policy realms, then, operate simultaneously— one which primarily involves neighborhoods and their elected and appointed ofﬁcials, and the other which involves the inner workings of urban regimes consisting of private sector elites and government. Further, while some urban policies, such as urban renewal, have been driven by elite interests during the early stages of policymaking,27 once on the agenda, local residents and neighborhoods and their government ofﬁcials had direct inﬂuence on exactly how renewal would be carried out, or, in many cases, not carried out. Elites did not simply dictate the particulars of the large redevelopment project in Buffalo’s lower east side which was begun in the 1950s. Powerful downtown interests may have been instrumental in formulating the original plan for the project, but its numerous implementation problems—which were clearly not in the interests of private elites—resulted from an extended partisan debate among elected ofﬁcials which occurred at the expense of the African American community. In sum, a focus on the role of elites in local policy-making conﬁnes the scope of inquiry to questions related to large, downtown development projects, while simultaneously minimizing the many ways that neighborhoods and local government ofﬁcials have inﬂuenced residential locations. So while I examine the decisionmaking process and its effects, I do so in a manner which focuses substantial attention on the concept of location, emphasizes the important distinction between downtown and residential neighborhoods, as well as variation among residential neighborhoods themselves, and attempts to begin to come to terms with the relationship between public policy and residential neighborhood change and development.

Politics and Place: The Geographic Dimension of Community Power Harold Lasswell’s conceptualization of politics—who gets what, when, how—originally formulated in 1936, has traditionally been accepted by social scientists.28 The study of power, and speciﬁcally the study of community power, therefore, has tended to focus on these four dimensions: who, what, when, and how. Determining who has inﬂuence within a local political arena is the ultimate purpose of all community power studies. Scholars

14

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

have differed in their approaches, however. Some scholars, usually sociologists, have focused directly on an analysis of individuals in power or those who are thought to be inﬂuential. Others have looked at the details of the local political decision-making process— the what and how of Lasswell’s politics—and attempted to draw conclusions about local politics from this perspective. This approach has generally been employed by political scientists. Finally, although to a lesser extent, some community power studies have addressed the dimension of time—the when part of Lasswell’s politics. Historical approaches to the study of community power are generally used to illustrate that who is inﬂuential in local politics changes over time. For example, Dahl presents a lengthy historical analysis of New Haven’s politics in an effort to make the pluralist argument that in the contemporary period, patterns of inﬂuence in the local political arena are much more decentralized than in previous periods.29 And Stone’s account of Atlanta from the 1940s through the 1980s also explicitly places the subject of local politics within a larger, historical context.30 When considering Lasswell’s deﬁnition of politics as well as the community power literature, however, one is struck by the absence of any geographic concepts which could be utilized in evaluating both local political inﬂuence and the impact of local policymaking. This literature seems to implicitly assume that the spatial organization of cities—both where people live and where infrastructure is located—is simply the inevitable product of automatic, free market processes,31 or the result solely of elite inﬂuence. Yet a geographic dimension of local politics and government is present throughout the entire public policy-making process. It manifests itself as soon as the relationship between residential segregation and local government is examined. Focusing on Race and Place in Studying Community Power Neighborhoods are places with interests. And if a city is segregated by race, as so many American cities are, then the interests of neighborhoods largely, in some cases almost completely, overlap with the interests of certain racial groups. In other words, if a substantial majority of a city’s black residents live in the same neighborhoods, and constitute the majority within those neighborhoods, then the interests of the African American community and the interests of those neighborhoods are very similar.

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

15

We can gain a better understanding of why neighborhoods have certain, tangible characteristics by focusing directly on the concept of place within the traditional formula of Lasswell’s politics. An explicit assumption I make, therefore, is that location, or place, is as important as any of these other dimensions because places shape access to valued resources in society and thus are necessarily related to who has power in the community. The spatial organization of a city is not only a product of the local political process, however. Rather, it is a fundamental part of the process itself. Lasswell’s four dimensions interact with the dimension of place to produce political outcomes. Where residents live and where things are located in any city illustrates how local politics has operated in the past, and shapes how it will take place in the future. Further, when one considers the division of every level of government in the nation into geographic electoral districts, and the ongoing attention municipalities give to attracting and directing growth projects, it is clear that local politics possesses a signiﬁcant geographic dimension. Considering these factors, then, we can update Lasswell’s formulation of politics: politics is who gets what, when, how, and where. Addressing the many components of the relationship between local politics and neighborhoods is possible once a geographic dimension is added to the study of community power and the variable of race is made a primary component in the analysis.

Representation and Democracy Giving signiﬁcant attention to race entails close attention to the larger concept of representation. Representation is one of, if not the most important, elements of democracy. Voters elect representatives at every level of government on the assumption that once in ofﬁce, elected ofﬁcials will represent the interests of their constituents. And appointed ofﬁcials, from members of the Supreme Court or president’s cabinet all the way down to municipal board members, are also representatives of the people. Appointed ofﬁcials are given their positions by elected ofﬁcials, and thus are indirectly inﬂuenced by the electorate. Ideas about representation are only useful, however, if one can examine actual representatives with reference to a certain framework. The concept of descriptive representation begins to provide such a framework.

16

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Descriptive Representation The subject of representation can be examined in a variety of ways. Insofar as race is concerned, the descriptive approach is the most relevant.32 Those who have argued in favor of descriptive representation maintain that the “legislature be so selected that its composition corresponds accurately to that of the whole nation; only then is it a representative body.”33 Further, the descriptive approach “depends on the representative’s characteristics, on what he is or is like, on being something rather than doing something” (italics in original).34 In short, representatives must be similar to the people they represent. Descriptive representation is applicable not only to elected ofﬁcials but also to appointed ofﬁcials. Being aware of this, chief executives often go to great lengths to make sure that those they appoint to positions of power are demographically representative of the electorate.35 The necessity of at least a minimum level of descriptive representation has been legitimated by several different actions of the federal government. Both Congress and the Supreme Court have promulgated policies aimed at making legislatures, and, indirectly, appointed bodies, more representative of the population.36 Although the Court has recently limited the use of racial districting aimed at giving speciﬁc groups essentially guaranteed representation, the importance of the principle remains intact.37 Rather than being an abstract idea, descriptive representation has evolved into an accepted, though often debated, element of democratic government. Underlying an examination of government ofﬁcials in terms of descriptive representation is the assumption that it matters who is in positions of power. This is especially true when one considers the legacy of discrimination faced by both minorities and women over the course of American history. It can be concluded, therefore, that a representative’s racial identity plays a key role in shaping his or her policy preferences and choices. Consideration of the persistence of residential segregation as well as the basic land use functions of local government makes it clear that having a representative group of both elected and appointed ofﬁcials at the local level is critically important. Because of segregation according to race and even sometimes according to ethnic group, inadequate descriptive representation in a municipality means that when a particular racial or ethnic group has been denied power, the location where that group is residentially concentrated

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

17

has also necessarily been denied power. The presence of residential segregation, therefore, underscores the need for descriptive representation. Conversely, if the nation’s cities had always been relatively integrated, examining the demographic characteristics of representatives, though signiﬁcant, would not be as critical a question of inquiry. But policy-making itself is not the only reason that having a representative group of government ofﬁcials is important. The presence of any African Americans or other previously excluded racial or ethnic groups or women on a decision-making body changes its internal dynamics as well as its relationship with the larger polity. Representation of a previously excluded group gives that group a point of connection with government, which facilitates the ﬂow of information between the represented and their representatives. And the mere presence of even one member of any previously excluded group on a legislative body or board can make each member behave differently. For example, one recent comparative study of the implementation of school desegregation decisions in Boston and Buffalo, two cities that are quite similar in racial and ethnic terms, found that the presence of blacks on the Buffalo Common Council and School Board during desegregation made it much more difﬁcult for the white members of those bodies who opposed desegregation to make racially inﬂammatory public remarks, and ultimately made desegregation proceed more peacefully.38 In Buffalo, many council and board members, including some who were vehemently opposed to the idea of court-ordered desegregation, had become friends with their African American colleagues. Even those who were not on a friendly basis with black council and board members still had to work with them on a regular basis, and thus had a strong disincentive to attempt to ignite public hostility toward the issue of desegregation. The scenario in Boston was exactly the opposite. When the desegregation decision was ﬁrst handed down in 1974, representation on the Boston Common Council was entirely at large, and as a consequence, no blacks held council seats. There were also no African Americans on the city’s school committee (the equivalent of a school board). The absence of African American individuals in positions of power in Boston city government produced an environment in which the immediate costs to ofﬁcials for publicly denouncing desegregation were negligible. The public displays against desegregation which followed, including several

18

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

instances of protest and mob violence, received national media attention. In Buffalo, while there was public criticism of courtordered desegregation, there were limits to that criticism, and the environment that developed was different from the environment in Boston. While black representatives in Buffalo had been unable to prevent the numerous actions which segregated the city’s schools in the ﬁrst place, black representation within city government still performed a critical role when the desegregation order was eventually issued. In their extensive study of California cities, Browning, Marshall, and Tabb found similar changes in the atmosphere of city councils once minorities were elected to them: We were told repeatedly that minority councilmembers were important in linking minorities to city hall, in providing role models, and in sensitizing white colleagues to minority concerns. . . . Even where minorities were not strongly incorporated, councilmembers talked about a new atmosphere and new pressure on the council once minorities were members. One ofﬁcial said, “When minorities talk to the city council now, councilmembers nod their heads rather than yawn.”39 Thus a representative group of government ofﬁcials is an important part of democratic government for reasons other than just policy-making. Community Power and the Study of Representatives Descriptive representation has been a concern of scholars of community power, particularly in the early studies.40 However, the assumption underlying much of this literature is that once a group previously excluded from positions of power was granted power— as a result of redrawn electoral lines or board appointments—then a more equitable system of governance had been created. In some respects, this assumption was correct, as a hypothetical example can easily demonstrate. Let us suppose a city with a black population of 50 percent, but whose common council district lines have been drawn in such a way that only 20 percent of the city’s legislators are black. After a struggle over reapportionment, the district lines are redrawn in such a way that half of the newly elected council members are African American. The racial composition of

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

19

the new council, then, accurately reﬂects the racial composition of the entire city. With a legislative branch which is 50 percent black, African Americans will be much more likely to be given board appointments and high ranking administrative jobs, and policy choices will tend to be more favorable toward the African American community.41 In this hypothetical example, which is exactly the scenario that was played out in many cities, after reapportionment, the black community deﬁnitely had more political power than it had previously, and in some ways a more democratic system had been created. The mere achievement of descriptive representation is only the beginning of the story, however, since many issues decided in the local political arena divide primarily along racial lines. So while an analysis of race and representation at the local level must examine the racial composition of relevant decision-making bodies, it must go even further. The analysis must look at whether the policies under investigation during the period when African Americans constituted a minority of the city’s population—even after achieving sufﬁcient descriptive representation—divided mainly along racial lines. In sum, to gain a more complete understanding of the intimate relationship between race and local government, one must consider several questions. What were the tangible effects of the complete exclusion of African Americans from the local political process? What was the relationship between the variable of residential segregation and public policy? Even after blacks had achieved political power, were the largest issues still divided along racial lines, with African Americans left in a minority position and lacking effective political power? If so, what were the effects of unrelenting racial divisions on policy? These questions, in large part, underlie this book, and point to the need for a thorough examination of how race has impacted local politics and policy choices, and, in turn, shaped the creation of a city’s neighborhoods.

The Concept of Neighborhood Change A central concept of this book, neighborhood change, merits some preliminary discussion. The concept of neighborhood change has two primary dimensions, one spatial and the other temporal. The spatial dimension is relatively straightforward. A neighborhood is a geographic location, a place in which residents generally have

20

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

certain common bonds. The temporal dimension refers to history. Neighborhoods do not change overnight, nor as a result of one or a few minor events. To study the issue of neighborhood change within a particular city, then, one must look at local politics throughout the time period during which the neighborhood(s) in question transformed. More speciﬁcally, one must study the political issues and decisions which can help explain why particular locations have undergone dramatic change, and, conversely, why others have not. In order to appropriately consider the relationship between a local political structure and a particular neighborhood’s historical transformation, emphasis must be placed not only on the people who inﬂuenced decisions, but also on the tangible consequences of local policies which, over time, can be linked to the physical transformation of the neighborhood. For example, it is not sufﬁcient simply to determine who inﬂuenced and eventually won the political battle over the site of a new school or urban renewal project. Rather, the analysis must go further and look at where the school or renewal project was eventually located, where it was not located, and how the location decision could be linked to subsequent changes occurring in and around a particular neighborhood. Simply put, neighborhood change is an incremental process that involves the transformation of the physical characteristics of a neighborhood as well as its residential population.42

The Concept of Social Isolation: Politics, Economics, and Space Numerous scholars have pointed out that the distinguishing characteristic of many of the residents of very poor neighborhoods, and the neighborhoods themselves, is social isolation. Since behavior is not the main phenomenon under examination here, social isolation will be understood as the lack of contact or of sustained interaction with individuals and institutions that represent the existing opportunity structure. Segregation, unemployment, and poverty are, after all, strong evidence of a lack of connection to information and social networks which represent opportunity. And not having direct access to opportunity makes the cycle of poverty tragically self-fulﬁlling. Regarding the connection between poverty concentration and unemployment, Katherine M. O’ Regan found

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

21

that high levels of poverty only increase the likelihood of unemployment among minority youth, controlling for individual level variables, because ghetto poverty is characterized by a lack of social networks.43 Geographically concentrated poverty necessarily limits opportunity, and the result can only reinforce the original effects of poverty. The deﬁnition of social isolation employed here, then, emphasizes the fact that neighborhoods of extreme poverty are discernible places that lack adequate relationships to opportunity. Isolation from opportunity structures is separate from, indeed may be a major cause of, behaviors that others attribute to a culture of poverty. In order to gain a better understanding of the relationship between local politics and the process of neighborhood change, the concept of social isolation can be broken down into three basic components: political isolation, spatial isolation, and economic isolation. A neighborhood can be effectively politically isolated in terms of both actual and perceived inﬂuence within the local political structure: a neighborhood and its residents either have no representation at all or else constitute a minority on many important issues. The effects of political isolation often translate into concrete changes in the neighborhood, frequently manifesting themselves in spatial and economic isolation. The spatial isolation of a neighborhood occurs when it is residentially segregated. Although it may be geographically proximate to the rest of the city, residents who live there suffer from discrimination which does not allow them to move easily, if indeed they can move at all, into other neighborhoods or the suburbs. Further, individuals living outside the neighborhood not only choose to not move into it, but also can avoid ever entering the neighborhood when carrying out their daily activities, which reinforces its spatial isolation. Finally, if a neighborhood has a consistent decrease in or outright lack of economic activity over an extended period of time, then the neighborhood and its residents will become economically isolated. Political isolation, spatial isolation, and economic isolation are obviously not independent of one another; all three interact to bring about the social isolation of a neighborhood and its residential population. Once isolated from local politics, other areas of the city, and the larger economy, a neighborhood will become even further isolated from the existing opportunity structure. Local politics plays both direct and indirect roles in creating social isolation, and therefore contributes substantially to the creation of ghettos.

22

Figure 2 Ghetto Formation Incorporating Local Politics

쑸

쑸

쑸

쑸

쑸

쑸

쒀

쑸

쑸

쒀

1.

쑽

쑽 National Politics

3.

쑺

State Politics

쑽 3.

쑺

쑸 Local Politics

쒀 쑽 1. Great Migration; Residential Segregation; Suburbanization 2. Deindustrialization 3. Flow of Monies within Federal System 4. Local Political Decisions

쑺

4.

쒀 2.

National/Regional Economic Trends

쑸

The Ghetto: —Concentrated Poverty —Segregation 쑺 —Social Problems

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

National/Regional Demographic Trends

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

23

The Model: Local Politics and the Ghetto The model I employ assumes that municipalities decide how to use the land within their boundaries, and therefore directly shape the physical characteristics of their neighborhoods. The model posits that national and regional economic and demographic trends, as well as national and state public policies, are ultimately ﬁltered through local political structures. These larger phenomena, therefore, can at best be linked indirectly to the creation of very low income urban areas. Residential segregation is a regional demographic trend in that it is apparent in numerous metropolitan areas, but it is also a product of and contributor to local decision-making. The model suggests (illustrated in Figure 2 through the use of dotted lines) that ghetto formation has many important effects on politics, economics, and living patterns. The political effects of the evolution of ghetto neighborhoods on politics have been profound, and can be witnessed at every level of government. The mere existence of the ghetto has caused local government to change its expectations regarding potential development projects, to alter patterns of law enforcement, and to struggle every day with the many problems associated with governing a segregated city. State and federal governments, seeing the ghetto as the result of excessive past governmental spending, proceed to reduce policies and programs beneﬁting urban areas. The economic and demographic effects of ghetto formation are also noteworthy: as urban areas become the home for more low-income persons concentrated in seemingly ever-expanding ghettos, businesses and residents are more likely to leave cities and move to suburban or even rural locations. The type of analysis suggested by the model can illuminate how the many day-to-day activities of local government, when evaluated across time, contribute to what is generally accepted by both liberals and conservatives alike as an inevitable phenomenon—the contemporary ghetto neighborhood.

The Case: The City of Buffalo Located in western New York State on the eastern edge of the Niagara River and Lake Erie is the city of Buffalo. In many ways, Buffalo illustrates several of the trends associated with the new urban poverty, the most apparent of which is deindustrialization.

24

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

The literature on Buffalo tends to emphasize economic changes which have taken place in the city and throughout the region. Earlier this century, Buffalo was the nation’s eleventh largest industrial center, the third largest producer of steel, and the largest inland port. Deindustrialization changed all of this, however. Beginning in the late 1950s, the city’s reign as a national industrial power began to fade. Accompanying deindustrialization has been substantial population loss. Buffalo’s population peaked in 1950 at 580,000. By 1990, primarily as a result of suburbanization, the city’s population had decreased signiﬁcantly to 328,000. At the same time, black migration from the south gave the city a very different racial composition, as African Americans became roughly one-third of the population. Today estimates place African Americans at between 35 percent and 40 percent of the city population. Like any city, Buffalo has several neighborhoods with unique characteristics. Generations of residents of Polish, Irish, and Italian descent, for example, have tended to live in certain speciﬁc neighborhoods. And also like any city, Buffalo has ghetto neighborhoods. The lowest income areas are located in the lower and middle east side. Much of this part of Buffalo contains a substantially high rate of poverty and is made up almost exclusively of black residents. The economic downturn of the east side has been gradual, with rates of poverty and segregation increasing over the span of several decades. Because of the persistence of residential segregation, the interests of the city’s black community have largely coincided with the interests of this section of Buffalo. Up until the 1940s, the city had a relatively small black population, and the lower east side, although being the home to nearly all of the city’s blacks, was reasonably racially diverse. Blacks continued to migrate to the city during the 1940s and 1950s, and moved north from the lower east side into the middle section of the east side. As the black population increased, whites continued to leave, and by the 1960s and 1970s, the lower/middle east side was not only the home for almost all of the city’s blacks, but also a predominately African American area. In the early years of the period under examination, therefore, from roughly the middle 1930s through the 1950s, the interests of the black community largely overlapped with the interests of the lower and middle east side. From approximately 1960 through the 1980s, the interests of the African American community and those of the lower and middle east side were nearly synonymous. The fate of this section of the city, and of the vast majority of the city’s

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

25

African American residents, therefore, have been tremendously dependent upon both black representation in the local political process and the outcomes of that process. If the black community was excluded from key political decision-making, or if it was a losing minority on important decisions, then a sizeable section of the east side would clearly feel the effects. The main policy areas being investigated are public housing, redevelopment, and education, from the middle 1930s, when the city ﬁrst began construction of public housing, through the middle 1990s, when the nearly twenty-year-old desegregation order for the city’s public schools was lifted and the rehabilitation of a deteriorated, long-abandoned public housing development was ﬁnally begun. Other relevant policy actions will also be investigated, including the movement for fair housing, which began in the 1960s, and the impact of major development on residential neighborhoods. My intention is to analyze political decisions that can be linked to the development of ghetto conditions on the east side over the last several decades. This will be done by determining who was involved in the decisions, what policies resulted from them, and how these polices affected the lower and eventually the middle part of the east side. The goal of the data being collected is to measure the social isolation of poor neighborhoods in terms of political, spatial, and economic isolation. Political isolation is the main focus of the analysis, and consequently most of the ﬁndings involve politics and public policies. Economic and spatial isolation are viewed largely as the consequences of political isolation. The black community’s lack of political inﬂuence over key decisions affecting African American residential neighborhoods (political isolation) led to both tangible physical changes in and the increasing segregation of the lower/middle east side (spatial isolation), and eventually to decreasing economic activity and opportunity there (economic isolation). These forces have come together, reinforced one another, and produced a place which is, in many respects, socially isolated.44 The research method being used is a variation of the traditional pluralist method, which studies political decision-making by examining who participated and prevailed in the political process. This book seeks to determine not only who has and who has not participated in the policy areas under study, but also intends to analyze the effects of the political process. My approach makes race the primary concern and adds a geographic dimension to the study of community power. Looking at both the political process as well as its effects is critical because the two phenomena are closely

26

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

related. They can assist in explaining how and why some neighborhoods change, sometimes dramatically, over time, while others remain virtually unchanged. In this book, I focus on government itself, the decisions it makes, and its relationship to the public. I look at actual decisions, many of which were policies not adopted, rather than attempt to ﬁnd which issues were completely excluded from the decision-making arena altogether. I suggest that it is possible to examine the relationship between local government policies and race because this relationship has frequently been quite overt, characterized by publicly debated issues which, in many cases, one does not have to look very hard to ﬁnd. My argument attempts to analytically integrate the decades-old debate about community power with the recent debate about the development of concentrated urban poverty for a more comprehensive understanding of urban politics and development. The policies under examination consist of three main types: 1. policies (either written or unwritten) which were adopted and implemented by local ofﬁcials; 2. policies which were adopted, but never implemented according to original plans; and 3. policies which were not adopted but which, had they been adopted, could very well have had beneﬁcial effects on much of the east side. Before looking at these policies, however, it is ﬁrst necessary to look more closely at the city chosen for this study, Buffalo, New York.

2 Buffalo and Western New York

Two themes underlie chapter 2. First, the changes that Buffalo has undergone, including the transformation of its population and economy, are similar to what has happened in recent decades to dozens of other metropolitan areas in the northeastern and midwestern United States. The context within which local politics and government has taken place in Buffalo, therefore, is fairly typical. The second theme to be developed in chapter 2 is that an emphasis on these changes, especially the loss of heavy industry, is misplaced if one is seeking to explain the characteristics of the city’s neighborhoods today. Chapter 2 provides much of the necessary background for the arguments of the book.

The Western New York Region and the City of Buffalo Buffalo was ﬁrst incorporated as a village in 1813 and ofﬁcially became a city in 1832. The city grew rapidly during the nineteenth century, initially as a result of the construction of the Erie Canal, and then, during the latter part of the century, as a result of the birth of industry. With the loss of industry and massive suburbanization beginning in the period after World War II, the growth of Buffalo and western New York stopped and the region began its gradual decline. Regional and City Populations Patterns One trend common to most older northeastern and midwestern cities is declining population, and Buffalo is certainly no exception to this trend. The city has suffered substantial population loss over the past forty years. Beginning in the 1950s, large numbers of residents left the central city, and the surrounding suburbs grew

27

28 Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Map 2.1 Western New York

29

Buffalo and Western New York Table 2.1 Population of Buffalo and Erie County, 1930–1990 Year

City

County

City/County (%)

1930 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990

573,076 575,901 580,132 532,759 462,768 357,870 328,123

762,408 798,377 899,238 1,064,688 1,113,491 1,015,472 968,532

75.2 72.1 64.5 50.0 41.6 35.2 33.9

Table 2.2 Retail and Manufacturing Establishments in Erie County Located within Buffalo, 1958–1987 Year

City

County

City/County (%)

1958 1967 1977 1987

8,165 5,844 3,906 3,265

12,388 10,665 9,374 10,333

66.0 54.8 41.7 31.6

dramatically.1 As Table 2.1 illustrates, after peaking at over 580,000 in 1950, the city’s population has decreased consistently, reaching a low of just over 328,000 by 1990. Today the population is estimated to be roughly 300,000. Although the suburbs have grown at the expense of the city, there has still been a slight net population loss in western New York since 1970. While many residents have relocated from the city to the surrounding suburbs over the past three decades, others have left the region altogether. Accompanying declining population has been a declining downtown. As the data in Table 2.2 illustrate, the city, including the central business district, is not nearly as economically active as it was a few decades ago, particularly relative to the overall level of economic activity in Erie County. Bringing activity to downtown today is a primary concern of both local ofﬁcials as well as the media. Reports about downtown on the local television news and in the city’s only daily newspaper, the Buffalo News, all seem to implicitly argue the rising tide thesis—the idea that if downtown were to thrive again, then the city as a whole could possibly return to the glory of the past.

30

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Ethnic and Racial Neighborhood Patterns When large-scale immigration to the United States began during the nineteenth century, Europeans moved to the cities of the eastern and midwestern states and settled in ethnic neighborhoods. As immigration continued during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, northeastern cities continued to grow, and ethnic neighborhoods became the backbone of urban life. Buffalo’s pattern of ethnic neighborhood development during this time period ﬁt the general pattern. Generations of particular ethnic and racial groups tended to live in certain sections of the city. Beginning in the nineteenth century, Italians settled on the lower east side and parts of the west side; the Irish established themselves in the old ﬁrst ward and south Buffalo; and Poles and Germans created large communities on the east side stretching all the way from Main St. to the Lovejoy area on the eastern edge of the city. By the twentieth century, the Italian community had grown on the west side; the Irish had ﬁrmly established themselves in south Buffalo; Germans were solidly based in the central part of the east side; Polish communities had come to dominate much of the eastern section of the city in the Broadway/Fillmore and Lovejoy neighborhoods; and a variety of other ethnic groups had created small enclaves throughout north Buffalo, including Slovaks, Romanians, Hungarians, Serbians, English, Scottish, Dutch, Canadians, and Swedes. Early in the twentieth century, the city’s relatively small African American community shared a section of the Ellicott district in the lower east side with Italian and Jewish Americans. Although the black community was conﬁned to a small area, this area was reasonably integrated.3 During the middle decades of the twentieth century, the black community grew dramatically, and migrated north to the middle section of the east side into the Masten district, while simultaneously Italians and Jews left the lower east side, making it a predominantly black area. Today, the African American population has spread somewhat to other sections of Buffalo, including parts of the far east side, west side, sections of north Buffalo, and the northeastern section of the city known as University Heights. The relatively small but growing Latino community, which consists mainly of Puerto Ricans, today lives mainly in the lower and middle sections of the west side. Despite the migration of African Americans to other parts of the city, the east side remains the home for the vast majority of the

Buffalo and Western New York

Map 2.2 The Neighborhoods of Buffalo

31

32

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

black community. While the strength of many old ethnic neighborhoods has diminished in recent years, Buffalo does, in fact, remain quite segregated according to race. Further, many of the east side’s neighborhoods which are almost exclusively black are also the lowest income areas in the city. Many of the poorest sections of the east side look like most ghettos one would ﬁnd in any major American city, containing many old houses in need of repair, numerous vacant lots, boarded-up buildings, and a smattering of small, neighborhood businesses.4 After decades of controversy surrounding redevelopment, parts of the east side have recently begun to successfully rebuild. The city even won an award in 1989 from the Urban Land Institute for its housing efforts on the east side.5 However, much of the east side still faces the obstacles faced by other urban ghettos—poverty, residential segregation, unemployment, inadequate housing, crime, and the general isolation characteristic of lower income neighborhoods. Perhaps most striking is the high concentration of poverty on the east side, which merits particular attention when one discusses poverty in the Buffalo area.

Poverty in Buffalo and Western New York Poverty is a major problem in Buffalo. The rate of poverty in both the city and the region has increased since 1970. However, the growth in regional poverty has been gradual, whereas the increase in the poverty rate in the city has been much more dramatic. As of 1990, the percentage of families in Buffalo living below the poverty level was 21.7 percent, which was the eighth highest family poverty rate among the one hundred largest U.S. cities.6 As shown in Table 2.3, this translates into over 25 percent of all the individuals in the city living below the poverty line. Although the increase in the rate of poverty for the entire city has been alarming, what has been more disturbing is the disproportionate number of African Americans living in poverty as well as the geographic concentration of the poor. As shown in Table 2.4, the rate of poverty for blacks in recent years has been quite high, averaging over 35 percent. While poverty exists in several sections of the city, it is concentrated on the east side. As illustrated in Table 2.5, several very poor neighborhoods have emerged in this area over the past thirty years, some with poverty rates approaching 50 percent, clearly indicating the persistence of the economic

33

Buffalo and Western New York Table 2.3 Poverty Rates for Persons in Buffalo and Western New York, 1970–1990, by Percent 7 Year

Region

City

1970 1980 1990

9.1 10.3 12.0

15.2 20.7 25.6

Table 2.4 Poverty Rate of African Americans in Buffalo, 1980–1990, by Percent 8 Year

Poverty Rate

1980 1990

36.3 37.4

Table 2.5 High Poverty Areas on Buffalo’s East Side by Census Tract, 1970–1990, by Percent Tract

1970

1980

1990

12 13.01 13.02 14.01 14.02 15 25.01 25.02 26 31 32.01 32.02 33.01 33.02

28.7 24.2 54.2 38.0 35.7 31.8 28.0 35.7 32.9 31.6 27.7 29.7 14.6 20.1

39.4 50.8 55.6 44.1 48.1 36.0 47.9 47.7 33.0 50.3 41.8 39.5 19.5 31.2

42.1 44.1 65.1 — 49.4 48.1 25.5 44.7 43.6 49.3 46.4 48.0 22.8 37.6

isolation of the black community. Using the commonly accepted 40 percent poverty measure, it is clear that a substantial percentage of the east side’s population live in conditions of geographically concentrated poverty. The lowest income areas also have high rates of crime and single parent families, other phenomena which tend

34

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Map 2.3 High Poverty Areas in Buffalo, 1990

Buffalo and Western New York

35

to accompany concentrated poverty.9 The forces of poverty and segregation have come together to create rather formidable ghetto conditions. While scholars like Wilson have emphasized the restructuring of the nation’s economy as the chief initiator of the geographic concentration of poverty in urban neighborhoods, when examining the economic status of blacks in Buffalo and western New York closely, especially black employment patterns, it becomes clear that the role of deindustrialization has not been a central factor in ghetto formation. Before looking more carefully at the experience of African Americans in the Buffalo economy, a brief history of the growth and decline of industry in western New York is necessary.

Buffalo’s Economic Transformation The Rise of Commerce and Industry The story of Buffalo’s growth and decline is a familiar one. Before becoming an industrial center during the early twentieth century, the city was a major commercial center in the nineteenth century. The Erie Canal, opened in 1825, connected the Great Lakes with the eastern seaboard, thereby allowing the city to participate in shipping a variety of agricultural products both east and west. The canal made Buffalo the largest inland port in the United States. And with the completion of railroad construction a few decades later, Buffalo’s role as a major center of trade was solidiﬁed. Western New York entered the industrial age during the middle nineteenth century. Beginning with the manufacture of iron in the 1850s, ﬁrms in the Buffalo area began producing and exporting a variety of goods all around the country. Large-scale manufacturing, however, did not begin until the decades after the Civil War. Relying on resources shipped mainly by train from the midwest, the city began to manufacture steel. The most signiﬁcant case of industrial expansion occurred around the turn of the century—the relocation of Lackawanna Steel, from Scranton, Pennsylvania, to the Buffalo area in 1899. The company bought over one thousand acres of land just outside the city on Lake Erie in what became the city of Lackawanna. Shortly thereafter it was among the largest employers in the area. By 1910, Lackawanna Steel employed six thousand individuals. Other industries began to appear, and in the

36

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

years preceding World War I, western New York was producing automobiles, railroad cars, copper, and chemicals, among a variety of other products. During this period of enormous industrial growth, like many industrial regions in the United States, the western New York economy slowly began the trend toward consolidation and absentee ownership. In 1922, Bethlehem Steel (the country’s second largest steel producer) bought Lackawanna Steel. By 1930, all of the region’s largest producers of steel as well as twelve major automobile factories had been purchased by outside capital.10 With this trend, western New York began to slowly lose control of its own economic future. After a boom during World War I and a substantial downturn during the great depression, the economy took off again with World War II. By 1943, all the manufacturers in the region combined had more contracts with the federal government than all but four metropolitan areas in the United States. Wages were good and unemployment was minimal, as the regional economy seemed, on the surface at least, to be solid. The Deindustrialization of Buffalo The deindustrialization of Buffalo and western New York began after World War II. Aside from another temporary boom in production during the height of the Vietnam War, the economy began a long and gradual decline in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Hurt by the termination of wartime production as well as several plant relocations and closings, the 1950s were economically difﬁcult times. Yet another major blow was dealt to the region with the opening of the Saint Lawrence Seaway in 1959 by an agreement between the United States and Britain. Vessels traveling between the east coast and the midwest could now bypass Buffalo, which caused a variety of waterfront industries to close. During the post World War II period, losses were particularly severe in those industries that had made the city a national economic power. Between the years 1954 and 1967, for example, manufacturing employment in the region dropped from 180,000 to 154,000.11 In 1971, Bethlehem Steel permanently laid off nine thousand of its eighteen thousand person work force.12 Over the next several years, thousands more were laid off. By the early 1980s, General Motors, Ford, and Bethlehem employed only a fraction of what they had in previous decades.

37

Buffalo and Western New York Table 2.6 Employment Trends in Buffalo, 1950–1990, by Percent Sector

1950

1960

1970

1980

1990

Manufacturing Trade Services Government FIRE Other

44.8 18.2 10.7 9.1 3.1 14.1

40.0 19.1 12.4 11.5 3.6 13.4

33.9 20.6 15.3 16.0 3.9 10.3

26.7 22.6 20.0 17.5 4.4 8.8

17.8 24.9 26.4 16.4 5.3 9.2

The Rise in Service Related Employment Coinciding with the decline of manufacturing has been the growth in service related employment. As shown in Table 2.6, in 1950, manufacturing employed approximately 45 percent of the western New York work force, while 11 percent of the population was employed in services. By 1990, however, manufacturing employment had declined to only 18 percent of the total work force, while service employment had increased to 26 percent.13 In some respects, Buffalo has been hit harder than other deindustrialized cities. As many observers have pointed out, growth in service employment has not been equal to the growth of the service sector in other deindustrialized areas. In comparing the Buffalo region to Pittsburgh, one scholar has suggested that while the Pittsburgh economy has successfully begun the process of restructuring, the slow recent growth of the Buffalo economy indicates that it is still undergoing the process of “destructuring”—that is, continuing to deindustrialize.14 The slow growth in services combined with the region’s heavy reliance on two industries—transportation equipment and chemical production—led two economists to observe in 1982 that Buffalo “has shown little capacity to move away from a long-standing dependency on manufacturing and seems unable to ﬁnd new directions for rejuvenation of its economic base.”15 Even when considering some recent minor growth in the trade, ﬁnancial, medical, and service sectors, the Buffalo area still lags behind many other former industrial cities in making the successful transition to primarily a non-manufacturing economy. So in regional terms, western New York has suffered more from deindustrialization than other metropolitan areas.

38

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

But, as discussed above, African Americans are quite segregated, and poverty is concentrated in east side neighborhoods which consist almost exclusively of black residents. Poverty is not concentrated in white neighborhoods or in suburban areas, which are dominated by white residents. In other words, in residential terms, Buffalo’s decline internally has been very much place-speciﬁc. Making the connection between the restructuring of the economy with the city’s geographically speciﬁc pattern of neighborhood change, however, is a question which deserves close scrutiny. African Americans and the Economy In order to link macroeconomic change with the increasing geographic concentration of poverty on Buffalo’s east side, one would need to show that the city’s blacks were highly dependent upon the manufacturing industries in the area that either no longer exist or have substantially reduced their work forces. In the absence of this sort of empirical evidence, it remains purely speculative whether African Americans would have, or even could have, taken advantage of industrial employment if deindustrialization had not occurred. When one looks at the economic standing of African Americans since the region’s industrial expansion, however, it becomes clear that manufacturing employment and all of its beneﬁts, including union membership,16 were much less available to blacks than to any other ethnic group. For example, one study of Buffalo’s African American community covering the period 1900 through 1940 has shown that blacks lagged far behind other ethnic groups with respect to their participation in the region’s industrial expansion. During this period, African Americans were frequently employed as strikebreakers, and usually achieved only temporary gains in industrial employment as a result of increased war-time production and not because of a change in racial attitudes on the part of white employers and unions.17 Unemployment data from the middle twentieth century support this assessment. In the years 1940, 1950, and 1960, blacks experienced unemployment rates of 26.2 percent, 16.9 percent, and 18.0 percent respectively, clearly indicating their relative disadvantage during a period of general economic prosperity.18 Further, while little can be learned from the 1930 and 1940 censuses because of their lack of speciﬁcity regarding the

Buffalo and Western New York

39

detailed characteristics of African American employment, data from the 1950 and 1960 censuses, although not entirely conclusive, tend to support the claim that African Americans were overrepresented in lower-wage service sector jobs, and underrepresented in manufacturing.19 Additional evidence of the discrimination faced by blacks in industrial employment is illustrated by the facts of the 1970 federal civil case, U.S. v. Bethlehem Steel.20 In 1967, the federal government initiated a civil rights suit against the Bethlehem Steel Corporation, and eventually against the United Steelworkers of America and its local afﬁliates, for engaging in a pattern of racial discrimination at the company’s Lackawanna plant. Since early in the twentieth century, the Lackawanna plant was the largest manufacturing employer in the Buffalo area. The plant was also Bethlehem’s second largest plant, and the fourth largest steel plant in the United States. As a result of the charges made by the United States against Bethlehem, the company admitted that it had engaged in several different discriminatory employment practices at the Lackawanna plant up through September 1967. Consequently the only question to be resolved in the case was the nature of the remedy. The discriminatory practices revolved around hiring, job assignment, and promotion. For example, Bethlehem admitted that it never applied any objective standards for new employee hirings and job assignments. As a result of the lack of any uniform procedure, the company’s plant employment ofﬁce: [F]alsely raised the general aptitude test scores of some white applicants, hired some white applicants without testing, granted preferential treatment to white applicants for summer employment and, in general, provided employment opportunities to white applicants which were not generally provided to Negro applicants.21 With respect to discriminatory hiring, the company also admitted that its supervisor of employment consistently gave preferential treatment to residents of Angola, an all-white suburb outside Buffalo.22 Because of this preferential hiring of whites, only 2.5 percent of all of the individuals hired by Bethlehem during the summers of 1966 and 1967 were African American.23 Once hired, blacks were consistently given the least desirable and lowest paying jobs. Bethlehem’s

40

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

promotion practices tended to lock African American workers into these lower level positions. As a result of Bethlehem’s discriminatory practices, by the early 1970s, roughly 2,600 of the plant’s eighteen thousand person work force, or only 14.4 percent, were African Americans,24 many of whom had been hired only since the company changed its policies in September 1967. While the case against Bethlehem brought the issue of job discrimination at the plant out into the open, given the many subsequent changes in the steel industry, including the layoffs of thousands of steel workers just a few years later, the case simply did not have the chance to produce any signiﬁcant effects on employment patterns at Bethlehem. Admittedly, Bethlehem was only one of many manufacturers in western New York. However, the company had become the single largest employer in manufacturing, far bigger than most, and its discriminatory practices illustrate a pattern that was, the evidence suggests, pervasive on the part of both employers and industrial trade unions. There was also widespread discrimination in trades not related to industrial manufacturing contemporaneous to the Bethlehem suit, especially in construction related employment.25 Discrimination in the ﬁeld of construction, which is discussed in greater detail in chapter six, contributed directly to problems associated with redevelopment during the 1960s. With regard to the overall economic position of African Americans in the Buffalo area, a study covering the period 1940-1980 concluded that: African Americans have been locked in Buffalo’s economic basement. Throughout the period blacks had the highest unemployment rate, the lowest rate of labor force participation, the lowest wages in the city, held the least desirable jobs and had less schooling than whites.26 Clearly, therefore, the black community was prevented from being a full participant in the industrial growth of western New York. This is not to say that the loss of industry has not hurt the economic prospects of Buffalo’s inner city residents, nor is this analysis meant to minimize the nature of the economic problems faced by poor neighborhoods today. Unemployment and poverty are

Buffalo and Western New York

41

very much economic problems. However, to maintain that residents of the ghetto are in a difﬁcult, sometimes desperate, economic predicament is not the same as arguing that the economic transformation of the city and the region was the primary cause of that predicament. In sum, since blacks were prevented from enjoying the many beneﬁts of western New York’s industrial prosperity, a focus on the economic transformation of Buffalo as the main cause of the geographic concentration of poverty is misplaced.

Conclusion In certain ways, the effects of Buffalo’s industrial decline are evident. When pondering the city’s relatively high poverty rate, one cannot help but think of the loss of large numbers of good paying manufacturing jobs which cities like Buffalo have endured. And the many abandoned industrial buildings scattered throughout the greater Buffalo region are constant reminders of the more afﬂuent past. Casual observation of the Buffalo landscape, however, also reveals quite a bit which goes against the stereotypical conceptions of a rust belt city. For example, despite the substantial population loss it has suffered, the city still possesses many neighborhoods that are home to thousands of working-, middle-, and even upperincome residents, including sections of south Buffalo, north Buffalo, and many of the neighborhoods of the east and west sides. The city has two big league athletic teams, the Bills and the Sabres, and in recent years has constructed a baseball stadium and an arena, both located downtown. Further, the Buffalo area is the home of the largest institution in the State University of New York system, several other colleges, and a thriving arts community. Despite what has happened to the city and region, and despite the current budgetary crisis which dominates local political discussion, the city today possesses numerous institutions and neighborhoods which continue to be vital and successful elements of the larger community. As we have seen, though, the city also has very poor neighborhoods. And while there is poverty in other sections of the city, it is concentrated in the lower and middle east side. Given the fact that the poorest neighborhoods are predominantly made up of minority residents but that African Americans were not equal partners in the region’s industrial prominence, one must go beyond an eco-

42

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

nomic explanation and look at the history of the east side’s relationship with the local political process in order to gain a more complete understanding of the evolution that has occurred there. In the chapters that follow, numerous political decisions made by Buffalo ofﬁcials will be examined in detail, dating from the 1930s through the 1990s. These decisions have, over time, had a gradual, cumulative effect on much of the east side, and substantially contributed to the concentration of poverty and residential segregation that are so prevalent there today. Before looking at the actual policies and their impact, however, it is ﬁrst necessary to look at the history of the city’s residential patterns as well as its decision-makers.

3 Race, Neighborhood Composition, and Representation

This chapter addresses two issues—neighborhood composition and descriptive representation. The subject of neighborhood composition will be examined, and the makeup of a section of Buffalo’s east side from the 1930s through the 1990s, will be documented. In addition, several different decision-making bodies within city government, all of which played signiﬁcant roles in shaping the policies that will be discussed in later chapters, will be analyzed in terms of descriptive representation. The unique relationship between descriptive representation and neighborhood composition becomes apparent once the factor of residential segregation is taken into account. Chapter three will demonstrate that from the 1930s through the 1950s, the African American community was residentially segregated while having little or no representation on any relevant decision-making bodies within city government. As time went on, the black population spread out geographically in residential terms, and African American political representation approached the numbers commensurate with the city’s total demographic characteristics, thereby lessening the African American community’s political isolation. But the white population gradually left the lower and middle east side, making these areas almost exclusively black communities, thus initiating a sustained period of time—roughly from the late 1950s through the 1970s—when black interests and the interests of this part of the city were quite similar. The continual segregation of the African American community meant that nearly the entire black population would feel the effects of any political decisions affecting this location. The spatial isolation of the African American community, then, is an important factor that needs to be considered when assessing the effects of the decision-making process.

43

44

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power Table 3.1 Buffalo’s African American Population, 1930–1990 Year

African Amer. Pop.

% of Total Pop.

1930 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990

13,563 17,694 36,645 70,904 94,329 95,116 100,579

2.4 3.1 6.3 13.3 20.4 26.6 30.7

Buffalo’s residential patterns have played a signiﬁcant role in the local political process, both contributing to policy-making as well as being a product of local policy choices. In terms of policymaking, segregation has been important because the black community was tightly concentrated from the 1930s through the 1950s, yet had little, if any, representation during this period. Consequently, sections of the lower east side were, in effect, simply left out of the policy-making process. And that very same process from which the black community was excluded segregated African Americans even more, particularly with the introduction of public housing in the 1930s. Once blacks received their fare share of political power, the problem that remained was simple. African Americans remained an electoral minority, and many important issues divided mainly along racial lines, which often translated into clear-cut winners and losers. Chapter three lays the rest of the groundwork for the remaining chapters, which seek to show that the evolution of ghetto conditions on much of the east side has resulted in large part from the political process, the results of which are manifest in the social isolation which has become characteristic of the lowest income areas.

The Size and Location of Buffalo’s African American Population, 1930–1990 As shown in Table 3.1, Buffalo’s black population, like other northern cities, increased substantially between World War II and 1960. As the African American population grew, whites began to move to newly built suburbs during this period. This trend contin-

Race, Neighborhood Composition

45

Table 3.2 Percentage of Buffalo’s African American Population Living on the Lower East Side, 1930–1990 Year

% of Buffalo African American Population

1930 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990

87.2 87.9 83.3 57.2 40.0 20.3 14.5

ued, and by 1990 approximately one-third of city residents were African American. To repeat, the main reason that race is so important in community power analysis is because of the existence of residential segregation. Politicians can make decisions that may appear to be racially neutral, but because of their locational effects, they are, in fact, racially biased. Before looking at who has been in positions of power throughout the period under examination, then, it is ﬁrst necessary to look at exactly where African Americans have lived over the past several decades. In 1930, the relatively small black population lived on the lower east side in a section of the Ellicott district. Speciﬁcally, African Americans were concentrated in the Ellicott district’s ﬁfth ward, one of the city’s twenty-seven wards that elected representatives to the Erie County Board of Supervisors. In the decades before the African American community grew, several other ethnic groups also resided in this section of Buffalo,1 but by the 1930s, the neighborhood was populated almost entirely by Jews, Italians, and African Americans. The lower east side is Buffalo’s historic black community, and it was in this location that most African Americans lived until relatively recently. As shown in Table 3.2, almost all of the city’s African Americans lived in this area until well into the 1950s. By 1970, primarily because of the huge increases in the black population, less than half of African Americans lived in this area. As shown in Table 3.3, however, while blacks moved to surrounding neighborhoods beginning in the 1950s, whites were rapidly leaving the area, thus it became increasingly African American. So although

46

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power Table 3.3 Racial Composition of Buffalo’s Lower East Side, 1930–1990

Year

Total Pop.

Lower East Side African American Pop.

Lower East Side % African American

1930 1940 1950 1960 1970 1980 1990

86,241 85,019 88,732 65,690 47,826 23,830 18,045

11,830 15,549 29,127 36,151 37,722 19,311 14,630

13.7 18.3 32.8 55.0 78.9 81.0 81.1

the neighborhood became the home for less of the entire black population, it also transformed into an almost exclusively African American residential area. By 1990, this part of Buffalo as well as neighborhoods to the immediate north had become predominantly African American, many possessing high levels of poverty. When looking at the information in tables 3.2 and 3.3, several important observations can be made. With such a large majority of African Americans concentrated in the lower east side from the 1930s until well into the 1950s, it can be afﬁrmed that the interests of the city’s black community largely overlapped with the interests of this neighborhood. Certainly as late as the1960s whites lived in this part of the city. But when considering both white mobility as well as the difﬁculty that blacks faced when trying to move to other sections of the city and suburbs, it is clear that the interests of African Americans have been much more closely tied to this area than have been the interests of whites. As African Americans gradually began to move into adjacent neighborhoods during the late 1950s, and whites continued their exodus, the interests of the city’s blacks became largely synonymous with a somewhat larger geographic area on the east side. In other words, if the African American population was excluded from, or came up short in, the local political process over the last several decades, then a fairly sizeable section of the east side would necessarily feel the effects. At the outset, several caveats are in order. First, I am not saying that all African Americans (or all members of any racial or ethnic group, for that matter) have objectively the same exact set of interests. However, everyone has an interest in residing in decent housing in a livable neighborhood, attending good schools, and

Race, Neighborhood Composition

47

Map 3.1 Buffalo’s Lower East Side

so forth. In short, all individuals have an interest in possessing access to opportunity, which, because of the signiﬁcant disparities between whites and African Americans, means access to desegregated institutions. Further, I am also not suggesting that white

48

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

government ofﬁcials cannot necessarily represent the interests of blacks, but rather that African Americans are both better able and more likely to represent the interests of the African American community than are white ofﬁcials. Now that we have examined exactly where the African American population has lived over the past several decades, it is necessary to look at the history of the racial breakdown of the city’s political decision-makers, the individuals who have played a large role in shaping how the neighborhoods of Buffalo have developed.

Race and Representation, 1935–1995 Background: The Governmental Structure The powers of the mayor and common council in Buffalo are fairly standard. The city has a traditional mayor-council form of government with a strong mayor and a council consisting of thirteen members, nine of whom are elected from districts and the remaining four elected at-large, including a council president.3 Prior to 1986 the council consisted of ﬁfteen members—nine district members and six elected at-large. That year, the city charter was amended by eliminating two at-large posts, bringing the total number of council members to thirteen. Up until 1959, local law prohibited the mayor from succeeding himself in ofﬁce and council members from serving more than two consecutive two-year terms. In 1960, the city charter was amended to allow for mayoral succession and unlimited consecutive terms for council members. The mayor has the power to appoint numerous top city ofﬁcials, subject to the approval of the council. The mayor also has the powers of veto and administration of the city budget. The council may override a mayoral veto with a two-thirds vote, and is responsible for making all appropriations.

The Mayor’s Ofﬁce Any discussion of local government ofﬁcials must include looking at the individuals who have been elected mayor. Table 3.4 outlines Buffalo’s mayors from 1934 to the present by years in ofﬁce and partisan afﬁliation. Buffalo has tended to elect Democratic mayors. The city has never elected an African American mayor,

Race, Neighborhood Composition

49

Table 3.4 Buffalo Mayors, by Party and Years in Office, 1934–1997 Mayor and Party 4 George Zimmerman (D) Thomas L. Holling (D) Joseph Kelly (D) Bernard Dowd (R) Joseph Mruk (R) Steven Pankow (D) Frank A. Sedita (D) Chester Kowal (R) Frank A. Sedita (D) Stanley M. Makowski (D) James D. Griffin (C; D; R; RTL) 5 Anthony Masiello (D)

Years in Office 1934–1937 1938–1941 1942–1945 1946–1949 1950–1953 1954–1957 1958–1961 1962–1965 1966–1973 1974–1977 1978–1993 1994–

however. On four occasions, an African American has run in the general election for the city’s highest ofﬁce.6 The ﬁrst attempt was made by Ambrose Lane, who received 5 percent of the vote in 1969 running in the United Independence party. In more recent history, two prominent local African Americans, New York State Deputy Assembly Speaker Arthur Eve, and former Common Council President George Arthur, have also run for mayor in the Democratic party. In 1977, Eve defeated State Senator James Grifﬁn in the Democratic primary. In the general election, however, running on the Conservative party line, Grifﬁn defeated Eve and Republican and Liberal candidates, and was elected mayor with an electoral plurality. In 1985, after eight years of the Grifﬁn administration, Arthur decided to challenge the incumbent. The scenario in 1985 was very similar to 1977—Grifﬁn lost in the Democratic primary, and then in the general election, running on Republican, Conservative, and Right-to-Life tickets, defeated Arthur, the Democratic candidate. In 1993, Grifﬁn decided not to seek a ﬁfth term, and the city again elected a sitting member of the New York State Senate, Democrat Anthony Masiello. African American Common Council President James Pitts and former Mayor Grifﬁn unsuccessfully challenged Masiello in the 1997 Democratic mayoral primary. Masiello went on to win the general election relatively easily, as Grifﬁn received 23 percent of the total vote on the Right-to-Life party line and Pitts received 16 percent running under the Liberal party label.

50

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Table 3.5 Buffalo Common Council Membership, by Party and Race, 1952–1995 Years

Partisan Ratio (D/R)

1952–53 1954–55 1956–57 1958–59 1960–61 1962–63 1964–65 1966–67 1968–69 7 1970–717 1972–73 1974–75 1976–77 1978–79 1980–81 1982–83 1984–85 1986–87 1988–89 1990–91 1992–93 1994–95

7/8 9/6 9/6 11/4 13/2 11/4 11/4 11/4 10/5 13/2 13/2 13/2 15/0 14/1 14/1 14/1 15/0 13/0 13/0 13/0 13/0 12/1

Race (White/African Amer.) 14/1 14/1 14/1 13/2 13/2 14/1 14/1 12/3 12/3 12/3 12/3 12/3 12/3 10/5 10/5 11/4 10/5 7/6 8/5 8/5 8/5 9/4

The Common Council In formal terms, the common council is responsible for governing Buffalo. Except for ﬁve sessions dating consecutively from 1938 through 1947, since 1935 the council has always had a Democratic majority. Since 1960, the Republican party has not amounted to much at all in city elections. Since the middle 1970s, elected Republican council members have been almost nonexistent. The city’s ﬁrst African American council member, Leeland N. Jones, was elected from the Ellicott district in 1951. In 1957, because of population changes, an African American was also elected from the Masten district, which is located to the immediate north of Ellicott. From 1962 through 1965, in part because of

Race, Neighborhood Composition

51

Map 3.2 Common Council Districts in Buffalo, 1997

the dispersion of the black population resulting from the Ellicott district redevelopment project, black representation on the council dropped to only one of ﬁfteen members. In 1966, though, three blacks were elected to the council, including one at-large member. Since the middle 1960s, African Americans have consistently been

52

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Map 3.3 Common Council Districts in Buffalo, 1950

Race, Neighborhood Composition

53

elected from the Ellicott and Masten districts, occasionally from the University district, and also attained numerous at-large positions, including council president, making the racial composition of the council generally equal to the city’s racial composition in the contemporary period.8 Certainly black gains on the common council have been important. As we will see however, issues related to housing and public schools have often divided along racial lines, a fact which has frequently neutralized the black minority on the council. Board Membership9 At the municipal level, appointed (and in some instances, elected) boards make policy for their respective policy areas, while lower level employees are charged with implementation. From the beginning of the New Deal through the late 1960s, large sums of federal money ﬂowed to the nation’s cities. Municipal boards, responsible for running a variety of new programs, exercised a good deal of power.10 This is especially true when one looks at issues that most affect neighborhoods, such as housing and schools.

The Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority The Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority (BMHA) was ofﬁcially created in 1934. In 1937, with the passage of the National Housing Act, the BMHA assumed new powers, including the initiation, ﬁnancing, construction, and administration of the public housing program. Given the magnitude of the program, from its inception the BMHA has had a rather large job. By the early 1950s, several large housing developments had been constructed in various locations around the city. More housing was constructed during the 1960s. By the late 1980s, despite declining public housing population, roughly ten thousand individuals still lived in housing run by the authority. From 1934 through 1976, the BMHA board consisted of ﬁve members appointed by the mayor. In 1976, the structure of the board was changed to include two elected tenant representatives, bringing the total number of board members to seven. Despite the fact that African Americans resided in housing managed by the

54

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power Table 3.6 Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority Board Membership, by Race, 1959–1976 Year

Total Members

Race (White/African Amer.)

1959 1960 1961 1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973 1974 1975 1976

5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5 5

4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 5/0 5/0 5/0 4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 4/1 3/2 3/2 3/2

BMHA beginning in the late 1930s, no blacks ever served on the authority’s board up through 1958. From 1959 through 1976, as illustrated in Table 3.6 above, there were either zero, one, or two African American board members. By the middle 1970s, all of the city’s public housing had been constructed. Similar to the situation in a number of cities across the country, by this time public housing in Buffalo had become the home primarily for African Americans,11 and neighborhood patterns in which developments were located were ﬁrmly in place. The year 1976, therefore, is used as a cut off for an examination of the racial composition of the board of the BMHA.12 The pattern of racial representation on the board of the BMHA is similar to the composition of the other boards examined, with blacks ﬁrst gaining representation in 1959, but not until the middle 1970s gaining more than a token presence.

55

Race, Neighborhood Composition The Board of Education

The Buffalo Board of Education consisted of ﬁve appointed members through 1963, at which time New York State authorized the board to be increased to seven members. The board remained at seven appointed members through 1974, when, responding to increased pressure from a number of sources, New York State again authorized a major change—from seven appointed members to nine elected members, a system which is still in effect today. Three of the nine elected members are at-large representatives, while the remaining six are from geographically designated districts. No African Americans ever served on the board of education until 1962. That year, a prominent African American physician, Dr. Lydia Wright, was appointed to the board. Shortly after her appointment, the board was increased to seven members, thereby diluting the voting strength of the only African American member. As shown below in Table 3.7, the composition of the board remained at one black and six white members up until 1974, when another African American was appointed, making the racial balance ﬁve to two. Once the board became an elected body, three members were African American and six were white up until the desegregation decision of 1976. Table 3.7 Buffalo Board of Education Membership, by Race, 1963–1976 Year

Total Members

Race (White/African Amer.)

1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973 1974 1975 1976

5 7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7 9 9

4/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 6/1 5/2 6/3 6/3

56

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Table 3.8 Buffalo Board of Redevelopment Membership, by Race, 1954–1961 Year

Total Members

Race (White/African Amer.)

1954 1955 1956 1957 1958 1959 1960 1961

7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7

7/0 7/0 7/0 7/0 7/0 7/0 6/1 6/1

The Board of Redevelopment and the Urban Renewal Board The 1949 National Housing Act stated that if municipalities were to apply for federal urban renewal funds, they were required to establish local agencies to design and organize urban renewal programs. Almost immediately after the act’s passage, Buffalo expressed interest in the federal urban renewal program. In late 1949 the BMHA was appointed by the common council as the local agency responsible for the city’s renewal program. Just one year later, however, the BMHA resigned from this role, which led the council to create the board of redevelopment in 1953. In the period before the creation of the permanent board of redevelopment, a temporary eleven-member redevelopment board was appointed, which originally had one African American member. The black community had an ofﬁcially designated liaison to the board the redevelopment appointed by the mayor, but, as shown above in Table 3.8, it was not until 1960 when an African American became a member of the permanent seven member board. From the time it was created through 1959, then, the ratio of whites to African Americans on the board of redevelopment was seven to zero, and during the last two years of its existence, the ratio was six to one. In 1961, as a result of a series of administrative changes in city government, the board of redevelopment was terminated and most of its functions were taken over by the newly created urban renewal board, which was afﬁliated with the new department of urban renewal. Along with the council, the mayor, and the department of urban renewal, the board was responsible for the urban

57

Race, Neighborhood Composition

Table 3.9 Buffalo Urban Renewal Board Membership, by Race, 1962–1973 Year

Total Members

Race (White/African Amer.)

1962 1963 1964 1965 1966 1967 1968 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973

7 7 7 6 6 6 7 6 6 6 6 6

6/1 6/1 6/1 6/0 6/0 6/0 7/0 6/0 6/0 6/0 6/0 6/0

renewal program. As shown above in Table 3.9, the racial composition of the board remained at six to one up through 1964. From 1965 until 1973 (when it was abolished), the urban renewal board had no African American members. The urban renewal structure was changed again in 1966 with the creation of an urban renewal agency, consisting of the mayor, council president, council minority leader, chair of the council’s urban renewal committee, corporation counsel, urban renewal commissioner, and two persons outside city government appointed by the mayor. The creation of the agency further decentralized decisionmaking in the area of redevelopment, but, perhaps more importantly, continued the pattern of minimal black representation—only one of the original nine agency members were African American.

Race, City Population, and Representation As we have seen, in the years during and after World War II, the black population of Buffalo began increasing substantially. When examining both common council and board membership up through the late 1950s and into the 1960s, however, it becomes

58

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

evident that African American representation in city government did not correspond with increases in the black population. The fact that all the boards in question dealt with issues directly affecting the African American community, and that blacks lived in a geographically concentrated area, makes this lack of representation that much more relevant. Because of their relative economic advantage, far fewer whites were dependent upon public housing, public schools, and wholesale urban redevelopment. It was not until the period around 1960 that blacks got any signiﬁcant board appointments.13 By this time, however, the public housing program was almost thirty years old, the Ellicott district redevelopment project was already well underway, and the city’s public schools had, for the most part, already been segregated. The Issue of African American Representation in Local Government While the race of high ranking city ofﬁcials may not have been of concern to many Buffalonians, the lack of black representation in city government in the decades up through the 1960s did not go unnoticed. The local African American press paid substantial attention to the issue of black representation in local politics and government. For example, the Buffalo Criterion consistently monitored local black political progress.14 Although the Criterion aligned itself with the Republican party, and therefore in some respects was a partisan newspaper, it paid considerable attention to local black politics, and closely observed what was happening at city hall. The paper devoted a great deal of attention to local political issues and the status of blacks in Buffalo from the 1930s through the 1960s. During these years, the Criterion periodically would list all of the African Americans that had ever held ofﬁce in city and county government, thus providing a brief political history of local African Americans. When a position on a political board would become vacant, especially on the school, redevelopment, or housing authority boards, the paper strongly advocated the appointment of an African American to the position, by arguing that the black community had grown in numbers and therefore was entitled to a fair share of political power. One such editorial appeared in the August 30, 1958, edition of the paper, during the height of the controversy involving the proposed Ellicott district redevelopment project. Entitled “Wanted: Representation,” the editorial afﬁrmed:

Race, Neighborhood Composition

59

It is common belief by Negroes qualiﬁed to speak on the issue that this vacancy offers an excellent opportunity for the City of Good Neighbors to extend to its Negro citizenry the hand of fellowship in a joint enterprise of municipal development in which both races may make contributions. It is further believed, and similarly expressed, that Negro representation on the Board of Redevelopment is justly deserved, democratically expedient, and racially and ethically opportune.15 The paper also frequently criticized local ofﬁcials for passing over the black community when whites were appointed to positions of political power. For example, during the late 1950s, when African Americans had again been denied a position on the school board, the Criterion argued: Last week democracy in Buffalo received another staggering jolt. It was the Board of Education which received a new member; but the jolt was delivered by Mayor Sedita who appointed Samuel C. Markel to the board. For upward of three years the perennial promise that a Negro would be appointed to the Board has somehow managed to squeeze through without fulﬁllment from one appointment to another while the Buffalo Negro goes waiting and hoping.16 Throughout the 1950s and 1960s, the city’s two daily newspapers, the Evening News and the Courier Express, did not make the lack of black representation an issue.17 When discussing black politics, the two daily papers focused on the role of the handful of elected African Americans at the city and county level. Certainly the Criterion’s stinging editorials stemmed partly from partisan politics. But when one considers the fact that so few African Americans were in positions of political power during critical periods, the paper’s coverage of local politics seems much more to do with black political advancement in general than with partisan debate. The city’s black press, although small in numbers, provided a different perspective on local politics and government. It made the larger issue of African American representation in city government an issue to be addressed.

60

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

Buffalo in a Comparative Perspective Considering the tremendous political gains that African Americans have made in many cities around the country, at ﬁrst glance, the evolution of black political power in Buffalo may make the city appear somewhat anomalous. However, when looking at the circumstances in which cities have generally elected African American mayors, for example, Buffalo does not appear exceptional. In 1967, Cleveland and Gary became the ﬁrst middle-sized or large cities in the United States to elect black mayors. Since that time, numerous other large cities have elected African American mayors, including Detroit, Chicago, New York, Los Angeles, and Atlanta, to name only a few. But electing a black mayor usually occurs when blacks constitute an electoral majority in a city.18 For instance, many small southern cities with black majorities have frequently elected black mayors. And by 1987, every city over 100,000 in population with a black majority had, at least once, elected an African American mayor.19 Many cities of all sizes do not possess black majority populations, however, and consequently have never elected African American mayors. In the northeast and midwest, for example, larger cities with black minorities such as Pittsburgh, Indianapolis, and Boston, along with demographically similar smaller cities such as Providence, Worcester, Syracuse, and Albany, have never elected black mayors. Buffalo falls into this category in that it is a black minority city that has never elected an African American mayor. This discussion is not meant to minimize the signiﬁcance of the gains that blacks have made in electoral politics in dozens of cities. On the contrary, this book is predicated in substantial measure on the assumption that black representation has been a critical factor in urban politics and development. Rather, the status of black advances in urban politics—as measured by the election of African American mayors—is discussed here to make the point that Buffalo’s political development has been similar to that of many other cities. Some might argue that I am overstating the importance of a comprehensive examination of descriptive representation at the local level, pointing to the fact that despite the political gains made by minority communities, these groups have still suffered from disproportionately high levels of poverty and segregation, and all of the other problems that accompany such conditions. Thus, the argument goes, the racial makeup of urban ofﬁce holders has not mattered

Race, Neighborhood Composition

61

much considering the ongoing plight of minority communities. Further still, many would downplay the importance of minority representation by arguing that black mayors frequently give in to economic power in the same manner that their white counterparts do, and thus show little difference in their policy priorities.20 In response to these criticisms, several points need to be made. First, black gains in city politics have occurred relatively recently in history—that is, after contemporary cities had been built. So in order to gain a better understanding of the impact of racial representation within city government, and how the variable of race speciﬁcally affected how cities were built, one needs to examine urban development over several decades, when contemporary neighborhoods were in their formative stages, not just since minority empowerment. Moreover, since the period of minority empowerment, there have remained several key issues which have divided primarily along racial lines, many of which involve housing. For example, the quest for a comprehensive fair housing ordinance which covered all of the residential property in Buffalo began in the 1960s, has come before the council and mayor several times, yet has never become law. Although advocates of fair housing in recent years have included many whites, there has not been enough support for passage. So while there are issues which progressive white and minority representatives may differ little on, there are still important issues that affect residential neighborhoods. They often pit large numbers of whites against a solid majority of African Americans, thus underscoring the signiﬁcance of the racial composition of elected bodies, and ultimately the racial attitudes of the public. It is also necessary to reiterate a point discussed earlier regarding the general environment which a well balanced group of representatives can help create. As the comparison between the implementation of school desegregation in Boston and Buffalo illustrates, the political environments in the two cities were very different, to a large degree, because of the presence of blacks in positions of power in Buffalo and the complete absence of African American ofﬁceholders in Boston. So while in policy terms, the decision to segregate schools, and the subsequent desegregation orders were quite similar, the social disruption that occurred following the desegregation order in Boston differed from the relative calm that prevailed in Buffalo partly because of the differences in the racial composition of the city’s political leaders. When looking at the long-term development of cities, the persistent differences in

62

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

policy preferences between white and minority communities, and the ways in which a more diverse group of government ofﬁcials can impact the political environment, it becomes clear that the variable of descriptive representation has been and continues to be a signiﬁcant factor in local government.

Conclusion This chapter has documented the racial composition of a section of the east side of Buffalo from the 1930s through the 1990s. This area was the home for essentially all of the city’s blacks during the 1930s and 1940s. As African Americans began to move into adjacent neighborhoods in the 1950s, whites in large numbers began to leave this section of the east side and move to neighborhoods throughout the city and suburbs. African Americans, however, remained residentially conﬁned to the neighborhoods of the lower and middle east side. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s, because of continuing residential segregation, the interests of the African American community were nearly synonymous with the interests of the near east side. Over the past few decades, while some blacks have migrated into other parts of the city, this area has become an almost entirely African American residential location, thus reﬂecting the enduring spatial isolation of the black community. The lack of African American representation in city government from the 1930s through the 1960s has also been documented and discussed. During these decades, an extensive public housing program was built, major changes took place in the public schools, and substantial redevelopment plans were drawn up, but, as we will see, suffered countless delays and implementation problems. Since the middle 1960s, African Americans have generally possessed a level of descriptive representation in local government comparable with the demographic composition of the city. But many issues, especially those involving housing and schools, have divided whites and African Americans. Because blacks have remained an electoral minority, these racial divisions have made political victories difﬁcult for the African American community. While chapter two established that the larger context within which Buffalo has developed is fairly typical, chapter three has argued that the evolution of black political representation in Buffalo is also fairly representative, at least of black minority cities. But before one dismisses the Buffalo case as only applicable to

Race, Neighborhood Composition

63

black minority cities, it should be remembered that until 1967, no major city in the United States had a black mayor, city councils were often apportioned in a way that minimized the number of black legislators, and black board membership was frequently minimal, and often nonexistent. When discussing contemporary city politics and elections, Buffalo should clearly be grouped with other cities in which African Americans constitute a minority. But from a historical perspective, the pattern of political representation in Buffalo, like the larger social and economic context, is fairly representative of many metropolitan areas.

4 Race and Public Housing Policy: The Early Years

This chapter discusses the events of the ﬁrst years of public housing in Buffalo, 1934 through the early 1950s. Two issues will be analyzed in detail—the segregation of individual projects and the prolonged conﬂict during 1941 and 1942 over the siting of a housing development designated for African American laborers employed in defense-related industries. There can be no question that race was the most signiﬁcant factor in both site selection of public housing as well as tenant selection for individual projects. There were no blacks in positions of power in city government during the 1930s and 1940s. The lack of African American representation illustrated not only a lack of political inﬂuence, but also made it substantially more difﬁcult for the black community to obtain information from city ofﬁcials. The public housing decisions made during the 1930s and 1940s led to the containment of the black population in a small section of the east side, which directly contributed to the increasing number of whites leaving this area. While there had been racially identiﬁable neighborhood patterns prior to the introduction of public housing, the politics of public housing had the effect of essentially designating the east side as the city’s African American neighborhood. While race was the primary source of political conﬂict, place was the primary means by which political power was exercised. Ultimately it was the method of limiting the African American community’s contact with the opportunity structure. During the 1940s, with the black population growing but prevented from moving to other parts of the city, the stage was set for the more serious housing problems that developed during the 1950s.

65

66

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

The Advent of Public Housing During the ﬁrst few decades of the twentieth century, industrial manufacturing became the basis for the growing national economy, and western New York rose to national industrial prominence. The Great Depression, however, brought the nation’s economic growth nearly to a standstill. The Buffalo area was hit hard by the Great Depression. As 1930 drew to a close, for example, unemployment in several key industries was over 20 percent.1 And by 1932, the city was paying out relief beneﬁts to over one hundred thousand individuals.2 In 1935, however, the beneﬁts of the Roosevelt administration’s New Deal began to ﬂow into the Buffalo area. Federal money was allocated for a wide variety of public works projects, including airport modernization, a downtown auditorium, a stadium, and $4.5 million for the city’s new public housing program. The housing and economic conditions in Buffalo were such that the introduction of public housing would be not only welcomed by many, but almost viewed as necessary. The city’s population was growing, and peaked at 580,000 by 1950. But before increased wartime production began at the numerous industrial plants in western New York during the early 1940s, the city was experiencing not only an unemployment problem, but also showed signs of a housing problem. Because of the dual needs of housing and employment, with both federal and state assistance, the city embarked on an ambitious program of public housing construction during the 1930s. Public housing looked as if it offered something for everybody. The two daily newspapers consistently trumpeted the beneﬁts of the new program, and large numbers of residents immediately applied for occupancy. By 1953, developments had been built in several locations around the city, and were occupied by approximately twenty-seven thousand residents, or 5 percent of the total city population.3 The city’s ﬁrst public housing development, the Kenﬁeld apartments, was built by the federal government’s Public Works Administration (PWA). During its three year existence, the PWA built a wide variety of public works projects all around the country, including housing developments in Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C.4 The 1937 housing act transferred the authority of the PWA to the newly created US Housing Administration and allowed the federal government to make loans and pay subsidies to local housing authori-

Race and Public Housing

Map 4.1 Public Housing in Buffalo, 1953

67

68

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

ties responsible for building and administering housing developments. As a result, the power of local housing authorities increased substantially, which sparked more construction. Kenﬁeld was constructed on a large vacant lot in the northeastern section of the city, and was opened for occupancy in 1937. During the late 1930s, construction continued on other federally subsidized large-scale projects located in several different areas, including the west side, the east side, and north Buffalo. The new program was generally considered a success: it helped alleviate the problem of a lack of affordable housing and provided employment for many during difﬁcult economic times. Because of the relative popularity of the program, the city continued public housing construction throughout the 1940s and 1950s. Neighborhood Politics and Public Housing While the sheer number of residents who took advantage of Buffalo’s public housing program was a strong indication of its overall success, several conﬂicts occurred during the program’s early years which illustrated the many difﬁculties associated with government sponsored housing for low- and moderate-income individuals. Conﬂicts centered around site and tenant selection. The Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority ran the program, and was responsible for the initial selection of sites. After the BMHA announcement of a proposed location, it was up the common council to conﬁrm the site and enter into the contracts necessary for construction. The council frequently held public hearings on the proposed developments, many of which attracted hundreds of residents. The size of a proposed project was one source of political disagreement. Some of the developments were much larger than others, often containing several stories, therefore more tenants, which many neighborhoods opposed. Conﬂicts also occurred over rent levels charged by the BMHA at each of the developments. Lower rents meant lower income residents, which also created neighborhood opposition. From the beginning of the program, rents at different projects varied, often as a result of neighborhood pressure. The most serious conﬂicts, however, centered around the issue of race, and led to an extended period of conﬂict during the early 1940s which clearly demonstrated the existence of signiﬁcant racial tension. While the city’s African American population was relatively small when public housing was ﬁrst introduced, it was still geographically concentrated in a rather conﬁned area of the Ellicott

Race and Public Housing

69

district. The new public housing program, therefore, appeared to be a potential solution to the problem of overcrowding within the black community. Hence there were a large number of African Americans that applied for residency in the ﬁrst several projects built, but the BMHA refused to admit African Americans. Still lacking the voting strength to elect a common council member,5 the Buffalo Urban League became the strongest advocate for blacks interested in public housing policy. The Urban League closely monitored the decisions of the BMHA, and consistently argued in favor of the admittance of blacks to the city’s new housing developments. But as the Urban League quickly learned, African Americans faced an uphill battle when trying to obtain equal treatment with respect to occupancy in public housing. The initial obstacle for blacks came with the construction of the ﬁrst development, the Kenﬁeld apartments. Prior to the construction of Kenﬁeld, there was no actual neighborhood in existence on the site where the apartments were to be located. Rather, the development was built on a large vacant lot adjacent to a sparsely populated area toward the outer edge of the city, and therefore presented an opportunity to essentially create a new neighborhood. The BMHA tenant selection process for Kenﬁeld, though, was held in secrecy. And even after the Urban League’s insistence, no blacks were admitted into the new apartments.6 This pattern of tenant selection continued, and shortly thereafter contributed to bitter neighborhood conﬂict. In 1939, with two large housing developments already built and occupied in other neighborhoods, the city built its ﬁrst east side project, Willert Park Courts. Willert Park was a federally funded project, and from the time it was conceived, was speciﬁcally designated for African Americans. The project was built in a section of the east side that was interracial, however, with many Jews and Italian Americans residing in the immediate vicinity.7 Race relations seem to have been decent in the neighborhood, leading Urban League executive secretary William L. Evans, to remark that “Negroes had been living [there] in complete harmony and accord with other races and nationalities.”8 Despite the peace with which blacks and whites lived in the Willert Park area in the 1930s, though, there was some opposition to the project, from both African Americans and whites. The housing situation for the black community was becoming a problem, however, and protests against the construction of the Willert Park development were not all that strenuous, so the project went forward and was completed in 1939. With the construction of

70

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

an all-black housing development, rather than engage in massive protests, whites slowly began to move out of the lower east side, beginning a population trend that continued for several decades.9 Signs that a housing shortage remained for the African American community, however, were evident. The large migration of southern blacks to Buffalo had begun, and by 1941, there were 1,100 eligible black applicants for 172 units in Willert Park.10 At the same time, there were approximately three thousand other units of public housing scattered around the city, some of which were vacant. Blacks continued to apply for residency in other housing projects, and even some whites applied for residency at Willert Park, but the BMHA kept a strict segregationist policy.11 The black population had increased to over seventeen thousand by 1940, but with the difﬁculty blacks experienced when attempting to move out of the lower east side, it was becoming clear that unless African Americans were able to move into other neighborhoods, new housing of one sort or another would have to be constructed.

Housing for African American Defense Workers12 With the beginning of wartime production, the Buffalo area was one of the most active industrial regions in the country. In 1943, of all metropolitan areas in the U.S., the Buffalo area had the ﬁfth highest number of war-related contracts with the federal government.13 The large increases in manufacturing necessary for the war effort produced a relative scarcity of labor, and so the city’s blacks began to be hired in larger numbers for many temporary manufacturing jobs. As employment opportunities increased during the early 1940s, the city’s total population was approaching its peak, which made the need for new housing, especially for the black community, more apparent. In May of 1941, the division of defense housing under the National Housing Agency announced that it was looking into the construction of a housing development in north Buffalo for blacks employed in defense industries in western New York. North Buffalo was an exclusively white section of the city, however, and residents promptly protested this idea. As a result, the north Buffalo site for black defense workers was immediately abandoned with no serious debate. Some local ofﬁcials began to suggest an extension of the Willert Park housing.14 With the quick rejection of a white neighborhood as a possible site and the beginning of dis-

Race and Public Housing

71

cussion about adding on to an already all-black project for the defense workers, it began to appear as if segregation was going to be maintained in the public housing program. Reacting to this sentiment, the Federal Housing Administration sent a race relations representative to Buffalo who denied that a segregated project would be built, and maintained that two hundred of the one thousand proposed defense housing units were going to be reserved for blacks.15 Shortly thereafter, in 1941, housing for defense workers was constructed in north Buffalo. African Americans, however, were kept out of the project, named LaSalle Courts, which only exacerbated the burgeoning housing problem for African American war workers. The next site proposed by Washington ofﬁcials for housing for black defense workers in the Buffalo area was in Cheektowaga— a developing all-white suburb located just east of the city. Cheektowaga residents quickly protested the idea, though, and the common council member representing the Lovejoy district, which was located immediately adjacent to Cheektowaga, led the protest against the construction of the project. Again the federal government sent a number of ofﬁcials to Buffalo to work out a peaceful arrangement. Fearing that a prolonged conﬂict was developing, in response to the opposition to the Cheektowaga housing, the city’s African American community organized and adopted a resolution “[t]o petition the Mayor of the City of Buffalo, the BMHA, and federal agencies responsible for defense housing to put an end to racial discrimination, and to take any action necessary to obtain full enjoyment of their rights and privileges as citizens.”16 Once again, however, community resistance caused federal ofﬁcials to abandon the Cheektowaga site, leading several local ofﬁcials to continue to push for an extension of the existing project at Willert Park. While the discussion of sites in north Buffalo and in Cheektowaga created conﬂict and community resistance, the protest that followed the August 1941 announcement by the Federal Works Agency that the housing development for black defense workers was going to be built in south Buffalo was, by any measure, enormous. Similar to the two previous sites proposed, south Buffalo was an area with only white residents, the home for many Irish Americans. Large-scale organized protests erupted immediately after the federal government’s announcement. Eight business groups and three labor unions joined forces in an appeal to Senator James Mead and Representative John Butler to get the federal

72

Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power

government to abandon the south Buffalo site.17 In the days that followed, several protests took place in the south Buffalo area, organized by business, labor, religious, and political organizations. Neighborhood residents circulated a petition signed by approximately ten thousand residents expressing their opposition to the project and sent it to ofﬁcials in Washington.18 Such massive opposition led Mayor Thomas Holling, who had previously taken pride in his administration’s ability to rise above everyday pressures in decision-making,19 to staunchly oppose the south Buffalo site.20 Federal ofﬁcials defended their decision, however, emphasizing the many problems associated with other possible sites, including Willert Park. The federal government argued that the cost of adding on to Willert Park was too high, and would require the demolition of ﬁfty homes.21 Federal ofﬁcials also maintained that the south Buffalo site was located in close proximity to the Republic and Bethlehem steel plants, which employed African American war workers.22 Apparently unfazed by the federal government’s position, protestors marched on city hall, and again received assurances from the mayor’s ofﬁce of his opposition to the site.23 Groups outside south Buffalo also began to attempt to inﬂuence the federal government’s decision. A group of Buffalo manufacturing ﬁrms notiﬁed ofﬁcials at the Federal Works Administration that no more African Americans were going to be employed in Buffalo, thus minimizing the black community’s housing needs. They argued that if any housing were to be built for black workers, it should be located in the Willert Park section.24 Housing for African Americans in south Buffalo began to look nearly impossible. The controversy over the selection of a site for black defense workers began when the federal government chose locations, like the one in south Buffalo, and then had to deal with local protests. The housing was being built by the federal government for the war effort, so presumably it was the federal government that would carry the project through. The objection to the south Buffalo site was so strenuous, however, that local ofﬁcials decided to condemn the site and initiate their own process of site selection and ﬁnancing. As a result, in late August 1941, the BMHA unanimously adopted a resolution requesting the construction of an extension at Willert Park.25 Shortly thereafter, with an ofﬁcial decision from Washington still pending, in front of a standing-room-only crowd of over six hundred residents, the common council passed four resolutions, three of which were signed by the mayor.26 The resolutions made

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73

clear the council’s position on several issues, including: its disapproval of the south Buffalo site; its willingness to construct an extension at Willert Park, and cooperate with the BMHA in its application to the New York State Housing Commissioner for the necessary additional funds; its willingness to make up the difference in cost in the south Buffalo site and the site at Willert Park; and its interest in the careful monitoring, in conjunction with the BMHA, of siting decisions for any public housing to be constructed in the future. By this time it was clear that the federal government could not simply announce a location for public housing and expect its decision to be automatically followed. Shortly after the council’s resolutions, the Federal Works Administration’s John Carmody announced the federal government’s decision to abandon the south Buffalo site.27 Given the sustained opposition, the federal government really had no choice in the matter. The controversy was far from over, however, and three other sites beside the Willert Park site were debated by the city over the next several months. With the issue still unresolved, in early September 1941, the BMHA wrote the common council requesting its recommendation of one of three possible sites for the housing for African American workers.28 The three possible sites included two in the Lovejoy district and one in the Ellicott district. Despite all of the discussion about extending the existing development at Willert Park, the BMHA still expressed its hesitation in considering this site, emphasizing the ﬁnancial cost, and the large number of families that would have to be relocated if an extension were built.29 The discussion that followed in the next several months, then, revolved around the other three possible sites. The debate pitted the Ellicott district, made up primarily of Jewish, Italian, and African Americans, against the Lovejoy district, made up primarily of Polish Americans. The council held a public hearing to solicit residents’ views on the proposed sites. The reaction at the public hearing was fairly predictable—most residents said they wanted the housing not to be built in their district. Several African Americans spoke at the hearing, some favoring each of the two sites in the Lovejoy district.30 Recognizing the increasing housing problem for the black community, and the difﬁculty African Americans faced when trying to move out of the lower east side, one African American minister remarked: “You can’t crowd us all in between Michigan and Jefferson. . . . You have all the room. Give us some of it.”31 Residents and council members spoke for and against each of the three sites, but nothing was settled. It was still

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unclear where the housing would be built, and there was beginning to be a question as to whether it would be built at all. With the war in Europe heating up, and war-related manufacturing increasing, however, the need for additional housing was becoming more urgent. With the issue still unresolved, the council scheduled another public hearing just three days later. In the days leading up to the hearing, residents of the Lovejoy district organized a meeting attended by approximately four thousand people in an attempt to voice their opposition to any public housing being located in their community.32 The common council chambers were again ﬁlled to capacity, and several different speakers voiced opinions on each of the three sites. As a result of the second hearing, the council ofﬁcially rejected the two sites in the Lovejoy district, and adopted a resolution afﬁrming that the site at the Broadway auditorium in the Ellicott district was acceptable.33 The Federal Works Administration expressed its satisfaction with the selection of the Broadway auditorium site, and, for a short time anyway, it looked as if a site had ﬁnally been selected.34 The neighborhood immediately surrounding the Broadway auditorium site had a number of African American residents for several years, so the massive neighborhood opposition that had accompanied many of the other site selections failed to materialize.35 Just a few weeks later, however, the corporation counsel ruled that the common council’s resolution to build the housing at the Broadway auditorium site was illegal, basing his decision on the fact that no federal law existed which authorized the use of city property for the construction of federal housing. In the absence of legal authorization, the ruling went on to point out that condemnation proceedings would be necessary to obtain the Broadway auditorium.36 After it appeared that a solution had been reached, the question about where to build the housing for the black defense workers was still unresolved, and by the end of 1941, it looked as if the entire site location process was going to have to begin all over again. Throughout the conﬂict over the housing for black defense workers, the city’s African American leadership continued to monitor the BMHA policy of racial segregation. That blacks were kept out of other public housing developments only made the need to resolve the question of the site of housing for defense workers more pressing. Assistant District Attorney Robert Burrell, one of the few blacks in positions of authority in city government at the time, told the Buffalo branch of the NAACP in December 1941, that the BMHA

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had “no more moral or legal right to segregate Negroes in housing projects than in the public schools.”37 Rather than going unnoticed or uncontested, the actions of the BMHA were, in fact, being closely scrutinized by the city’s African American community. But as 1942 began, the issue of where to locate the housing for black defense workers was still unresolved. By this time, of course, the United States had entered World War II. Wartime production had again been escalated at local plants, and the inﬂux of many laborers, both black and white, compounded the housing problem for the African American community. In middle February 1942, frustrated with the city’s inability to decide on a site, the United States Housing Authority announced that the site at Eagle Street and Fillmore Avenue38 in the Lovejoy district had been selected for a two hundred-unit housing development for African American defense workers.39 The neighborhood selected was made up primarily of Polish Americans, and once again, neighborhood protests were vociferous. Rather than petitioning local ofﬁcials or even federal administrators or members of Congress, neighborhood residents appealed directly to President Roosevelt. In a letter expressing the neighborhood’s dissatisfaction with the federal government’s selection, residents emphasized the strength of the Polish American vote in Buffalo, the loyalty that Poles had shown to Roosevelt in the past, and implored the president to “exert all inﬂuence” necessary to “prevent authorities from putting this project into execution.”40 The African American community, however, expressed its satisfaction with the selection of the Eagle/Fillmore site. The Federated Negro Societies of Buffalo and Western New York, an umbrella organization representing fortytwo separate groups, also sent communications to President Roosevelt, encouraging him to support the Eagle/Fillmore site.41 And as it had done previously with regard to the south Buffalo site, the Erie County Committee of the Communist party also urged the city to construct the development at the Eagle/Fillmore site, demonstrating that not all whites were opposed to African American housing being located in a white neighborhood.42 Despite neighborhood protests, for a brief time in late February 1942, it again looked as if the dispute had been settled. Under duress, the BMHA had contacted architects and engineers, and had begun plans for the Eagle/Fillmore housing. Neighborhood opposition was simply too strong, however, leading the regional director of the Federal Public Housing Authority to order the BMHA to suspend any further work on the Eagle/Fillmore site.43

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As a result of the strenuous opposition from north Buffalo, the suburb of Cheektowaga, south Buffalo, and residents of white east side neighborhoods, it appeared as if the development at Willert Park would be the only site acceptable to a majority of city ofﬁcials and residents. Still under pressure to build the housing quickly, in the spring of 1942, local and federal ofﬁcials agreed that the project would, after all, be constructed at Willert Park. Given the housing problem for black workers, what was originally proposed as a two hundred-unit development was being discussed as a three hundred-unit development. Several local ofﬁcials argued in favor of the larger development. In May 1942 the zoning board waived all building restrictions so that three hundred units of housing could be built.44 With plans underway, a few months later the Federal Public Housing Authority earmarked almost $2 million for the Willert Park extension,45 and the project was described as much as a slum clearance job as housing for defense workers. Construction of the extension began in late 1942, and required the relocation of 127 families.46 In 1943, the three hundred-unit project was opened for occupancy. Only blacks were admitted to Willert Park, which, with the new extension, contained 472 units, many of which housed individuals employed in the city’s numerous defense-related industries. The conﬂict over the housing had come to an end, but had also revealed the many intimate connections among housing, politics, and race, and how those connections could produce massive public expressions of racial hostility.

The City Confronts the Issue of Race The Creation of the Board of Community Relations While addressing the needs of thousands of residents, Buffalo’s new public housing program had also crystalized the political issue of race. The prolonged debate regarding the location of housing for black defense workers in 1941 and 1942 made clear that race was very much an issue which could produce open and sustained conﬂict. Such intense opposition from white neighborhoods to African American housing led the Urban League to comment that the controversy over site selection “eclipsed any anti-Negro incident in local history. This seems to be the predicted result of racial segregation in public housing.”47 But the Urban League and NAACP were not the only

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organized groups watching over the city’s actions with respect to public housing. The American Civil Liberties Union, the YMCA, the Buffalo Committee on Discrimination in Employment, and the Council of Social Agencies also opposed segregated housing projects.48 Many who opposed segregation in public housing argued that rather than deﬂate racial tension, segregation actually increased the likelihood of racial animosity, and could eventually lead to violent conﬂict. Both sides of the housing segregation issue were aware of the race riots that had occurred in several cities during the 1930s and 1940s. Clearly local ofﬁcials wanted to prevent such disruption from occurring in Buffalo. Consequently, there was growing pressure from several sources for ofﬁcial acknowledgment of the existence of a racial problem. While there had been a temporary committee on community relations in place appointed by the mayor during the early 1940s, after the incidents of the early 1940s, particularly in light of the events of the war in Europe, it was becoming apparent to many that something more substantial regarding the issue of race had to be done. The city’s black population was increasing, and housing was bound to be an issue which would produce more conﬂict. As a result, in 1945 the common council unanimously adopted the ﬁfteen-member board of community relations, whose purpose was to: [I]nquire into the causes of inter-group tensions which may exist and to recommend to the mayor and common council the enactment of such ordinances and other legislation. . . . To eradicate or lessen those irritations which threaten social harmony. To promote amicable relations among racial, religious, and cultural groups of the city. To encourage and foster the spirit of American democracy in keeping with the traditions which have made this country great.49 The board of community relations was not a policy-making board; it could only initiate studies and recommend actions to the mayor and common council. The board met periodically and issued reports based on research it had conducted. In the ﬁrst few years of its existence, some prominent local African Americans served on the board, including William Evans of the Urban League. In some respects, the creation of the board was an important gesture, but in practice it was more symbolic than substantive. It had become clear that the potential existed for racial conﬂict, and

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the creation of the board points to at least an ofﬁcial recognition of that possibility. By 1945, however, with the black population at approximately twenty-seven thousand,50 there were still no African Americans in any elected city ofﬁces or on any relevant policymaking boards. Housing projects were still rigidly segregated, which only made neighborhoods more segregated. Lacking real political power, the black community had to deal with the board of community relations as its main point of contact with city government.

The Role of the Urban League: Race Fear and Housing By the middle 1940s, segregation of public housing developments had contributed to a shortage of housing for the black community, which was exacerbated by the large number of veterans returning to the area after World War II. In 1945, Willert Park had a waiting list of roughly six hundred veterans and their families.51 In 1946, with the housing situation for blacks worsening, the Urban League’s executive secretary William Evans wrote a forty-four page document entitled Race Fear and Housing,52 which was published by the National Urban League. The document is a detailed chronology of the events of the 1930s and early 1940s related to site and tenant selection in all of the city’s public housing developments. Evans blamed the BMHA for the racial problems in public housing, and warned of possible violence: The accumulated effect of all this is to create in those so disadvantaged, a deadly but restrained resentment that may eventually erupt in violence, destruction and bloodshed, as it has in Chicago, Washington, Detroit, and other cities. . . . This condition can be placed squarely at the door of the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority. Since its inception, it has persistently refused to alter or compromise its position of complete segregation of Negroes in all housing managed by it.53 Aside from the factual events discussed in Race Fear and Housing, the document’s signiﬁcance lies in its tone. When examining the manner in which Evans discussed public housing policy, it becomes clear that African Americans had no direct access to the local power structure. Because of the lack of black representation in city government, the Urban League kept an extensive written correspon-

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dence with local ofﬁcials, especially with the BMHA, in order to obtain the most basic information about public housing decisions. While the publication of Race Fear and Housing demonstrated the African American community’s commitment to civil rights in housing as well as its thorough dissatisfaction with existing policy, it also made clear that in the 1930s and 1940s, African Americans were on the outside looking in at local politics in Buffalo.

The Causes and Effects of Public Housing Decisions in Buffalo, 1937–1953 When examining the politics of public housing in Buffalo during the 1930s and 1940s, it is important to keep in mind that in many respects, the Buffalo experience was not unique. It was not uncommon for local housing authorities to segregate housing projects during this time period. For instance, accounts of the early period of public housing in Detroit, Chicago, Philadelphia, and Boston all reveal how local ofﬁcials practiced the policy of segregation.54 As many scholars have pointed out, local housing authorities generally followed the neighborhood composition rule, originally formulated by Interior Secretary Harold Ickes and his associates. It stated that a public housing development should not alter the racial composition of the neighborhood in which it was built.55 This rule was consistently applied by federal agencies engaged in lending and ﬁnancing in the private housing market as well. The neighborhood composition rule was vague, however, and local ofﬁcials were free to interpret it in different ways, or ignore it all together. Speciﬁcally, the precise meaning of “neighborhood” was not unanimously agreed upon. It was not clear whether neighborhood meant only the actual site where the housing was to be built, or whether it meant the entire block, or even the larger residential community itself. Conventional usage of the word would imply that the racial composition of the neighborhood—not just the actual physical site of the project—would be taken into account when tenants were selected. This was not the interpretation utilized by ofﬁcials in many cities, however, and public housing was often completely segregated by race, which is precisely what happened in Buffalo. In sum, as one scholar has observed, during the early years of public housing “[d]ecentralized decision making in site and tenant selection allowed local preferences and, in most cases, existing racially divided residential patterns to prevail.”56

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The Willert Park neighborhood was interracial when the ﬁrst project was opened there for occupancy in 1939, and was still somewhat interracial even when the extension was built there a few years later. While the larger neighborhood around the development at Willert Park was where the great majority of the city’s African Americans lived in the 1930s, it was by no means an exclusively black neighborhood. By locating an all-black development there, and then by adding on to that development a few years later with more housing designated exclusively for African Americans, the city had, in effect, adopted a policy that the east side would be Buffalo’s black neighborhood. The segregation, thus the spatial isolation, of the black community became the result not only of private discrimination, but also of public policy. This is not meant to minimize the role of the federal government in promoting the policy of racially segregated housing,57 or to minimize the role of private discrimination in the housing industry. Rather, the Buffalo experience in public housing illustrates just how ﬂexible the neighborhood composition rule was in practice. By making all but one of the ﬁrst several public housing developments all-white and the remaining one all-black, and by locating the African American housing in the only neighborhood where blacks already lived, local ofﬁcials were engaging in the process of neighborhood construction. Regarding the issue of project site selection, all of the evidence suggests that the federal government’s site preferences for housing for black defense workers were based primarily on two factors—the proximity to local manufacturers employing African American workers, and the cost of land. These priorities are what led the federal government to propose sites in primarily, and in some cases exclusively, white neighborhoods. The impetus for building the housing for black workers adjacent to an existing all-black project, then, came directly from white neighborhoods. Neither the location of sites nor the total segregation of developments were foregone conclusions. Local ofﬁcials, including the BMHA, the common council, and the mayor responded to the pressure of white neighborhoods, and, even though it was built with federal money and going to house workers engaged in the U.S. war effort, the federal government essentially became a passive spectator in the process of site selection. After several instances of massive neighborhood opposition, federal ofﬁcials became aware that the government in Washington simply could not choose a site and expect things to proceed without the approval of local residents. This is

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not to say that the federal government completely removed itself from the controversy. As the conﬂict continued into 1942 with still no site selected, federal ofﬁcials, obviously concerned with wartime production when the nation entered into the war, still suggested sites to local ofﬁcials. But the events of 1941 and 1942 demonstrated that the exact location of the housing for the war workers was, in the end, going to be decided by the residents of Buffalo and their local government. Further, it must also be noted that the conﬂict over housing for defense workers revolved around the question of where employed African American individuals would be allowed to live. While the idea of public housing was not popular with everyone, newspaper and documentary evidence strongly suggests that there was not nearly the stigma attached to public housing residency in the 1930s and 1940s that developed several decades later. Keeping employed blacks out of a variety of neighborhoods, then, only speaks to the depth of the racial attitudes of many whites. And again, it was not simply a matter of preventing African Americans from entering certain residential neighborhoods. Rather, the decisions that resulted from the conﬂict over defense housing not only increased segregated housing patterns and therefore neighborhoods, but also contributed to an environment in which other kinds of discrimination, in employment, union membership, and education would become easier and more acceptable. The residential containment of blacks effectively minimized African American contact with the larger opportunity structure, thereby directly contributed to the ongoing economic dilemma faced by the African American community, while it also hardened racial prejudice. Despite the protests of the Urban League and a few other groups, all of the city’s public housing developments remained segregated into the early 1950s. And then in 1953, the BMHA published its ﬁrst ofﬁcial statement of policy.58 Among other goals outlined in the statement, the BMHA stressed its intention to “attain and maintain, a racially integrated tenant population in each of its developments.”59 By this time, however, the lower east side had become an increasingly black neighborhood, and despite the new written policy of the BMHA expressing the desirability of residential integration in general, African Americans were still unable to move into most sections of the city. Many of the neighborhoods which had kept public housing for black defense workers out, including north Buffalo, Cheektowaga, and south Buffalo, were also able to keep any black residents out. After World War II, as more

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African Americans migrated to the city, primarily out of a lack of choice they moved into a relatively small section of the Ellicott district in the lower east side. As whites continued to move out, the interests of the city’s African American community were becoming virtually synonymous with the interests of this location. To be sure, in the early 1950s a fair number of whites still lived in the extended neighborhood in which the Willert Park housing was located. In fact, the 1950 census revealed that the Ellicott district consisted of approximately 40 percent African American residents.60 These population ﬁgures were due mainly to the characteristics of the old ﬁrst ward neighborhood, located a few blocks east and south of downtown and part of the Ellicott district, which contained a signiﬁcant number of white residents. But ever since the original decision to construct the Willert Park apartments in 1939, whites—primarily Jews, Italians, and a few Poles—had gradually begun to leave the lower east side, while increasing numbers of African Americans continued their migration into the Ellicott district. The large inﬂux of blacks into the Ellicott district in the years after World War II enabled the African American community to elect its ﬁrst representative to the common council in 1951. That year, Leeland N. Jones, Jr., a Democrat, managed to win in a fourway race against a Republican and two independent candidates. Still with no representation on any of the city’s important boards, blacks at least had an elected representative who could act as a point of connection between their community and city hall.

Conclusion By the 1950s, there was some evidence of a change in attitudes at the local, state, and federal levels toward governmentsponsored residential segregation. In 1948, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down its decision in Shelley v. Kramer, which held that restrictive covenants were unenforceable by courts.61 Restrictive covenants were contractual agreements among groups of property owners which stated they would not “permit a black to own, occupy, or lease their property. . . . A typical covenant lasted twenty years and required the assent of 75 percent of the property owners to become enforceable.”62 By declaring such agreements unenforceable, the Supreme Court was at least addressing the public sanctioning of private discrimination. The case was one in a long line

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of decisions dealing with a variety of civil rights issues, including the landmark Brown v. Board of Education decision in 1954 outlawing segregated schools. A few years later, in 1955, New York State made discrimination in publicly assisted housing illegal.63 By 1959, ﬁve other states—Pennsylvania, Washington, Oregon, Massachusetts, and New Jersey—had enacted similar measures.64 With public housing programs already in operation for roughly twenty years in numerous cities, and large urban renewal projects being planned and executed, it had become apparent to at least some policy-makers that ofﬁcially segregated housing projects, rather than addressing the problems of the ghetto, simply perpetuated its existence. By the early 1950s, however, with the city’s black population continuing to grow, and the gains of temporary wartime employment for African Americans fading, the seeds had been sown for yet another housing problem in the Ellicott district. The events of the 1930s and 1940s demonstrated that the African American community’s connection to the opportunity structure—whether in the form of economic opportunity, residential mobility, or political inﬂuence—was fragile at best. Many observers began to argue that the root of the problems faced by persons living in lower income urban neighborhoods was slum housing. During this time period, cities all around the country began to take advantage of federal legislation creating the urban renewal program. And in the years that followed, Buffalo was to embark on one of the largest, in terms of geographic area, urban renewal projects for a city its size in the nation—the Ellicott district redevelopment project. The project’s seemingly endless set of problems, however, were particularly destructive to the lower east side. Countless delays and conﬂicts illustrated the connections between one kind of housing problem, emerging slums, and the larger civil rights issue of housing discrimination.

5 Urban Renewal and the East Side

Chapter 5 traces several decisions in redevelopment and public housing policy from the early 1950s through the middle 1960s. The pattern of site selection for public housing which had begun during the two previous decades continued during the 1950s. The siting of two large developments, the continued segregation of all public housing, and the effects of a massive redevelopment project in the Ellicott district all contributed to the increasing segregation of neighborhoods, thus the increased connection between the interests of the African American community and the interests of a large part of the east side. An antiblockbusting ordinance passed in 1964 was an attempt to impede rapid neighborhood turnover, but the ordinance could scarcely alter population trends which were well underway. Although African Americans were gaining some political ground, the emerging residential patterns signiﬁed isolation for the black community, and made economic advancement for African Americans more difﬁcult. The limitations on the residential movement of African Americans both illustrated and reinforced existing patterns of inﬂuence, and because of the persistent economic hardships faced by blacks, also directly shaped the formation of ghetto conditions. By the middle 1960s, as Buffalo was losing both industry and population, the black population was still geographically conﬁned, and redevelopment had not advanced beyond the drawing board. The seeds had been sown for further conﬂicts over housing, and it had become clear that race was the primary force in neighborhood politics.

The Beginning of Urban Renewal The 1950s witnessed a number of major changes in American society. Large numbers of African Americans continued to move

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from rural areas in the south to northern cities. Suburbs developed, and millions of urban whites made their homes in suburban communities, to which African Americans were systematically denied access. Cities, especially those of the northern regions of the country, were changing quite rapidly. During the 1950s, cities continued the construction of public housing which had begun in the 1930s. But the most signiﬁcant development in urban policy was the creation of the federal urban renewal program as part of the National Housing Act of 1949. Urban renewal was a simple idea which, in many respects, appeared to be a potential solution to the problems emerging in many of the nation’s lower income neighborhoods. To participate in the program, a municipality would designate a certain neighborhood a renewal area; the land would then be acquired and cleared by the local government; the residents would be relocated; and the cleared land would be resold to private developers for a substantially reduced cost. Local governments in all regions took advantage of the federal program. By 1962, there were 588 urban renewal projects underway in scores of cities across the country.1 The tremendous scope of the program can be inferred from the fact over 609,000 residents in renewal areas were forced to leave their homes and neighborhoods, and ﬁnd new housing.2 As numerous observers have pointed out, despite its promise of mutual beneﬁt, urban renewal had a disproportionately negative impact on black neighborhoods.3 The program quickly became nicknamed “negro removal” because of its obvious racial bias in practice. Despite growing opposition, however, many cities continued to initiate renewal projects throughout the 1950s and into the 1960s. This practice eventually contributed to the urban unrest that plagued the nation during the latter part of the 1960s. Like countless other cities, Buffalo saw both public housing construction and urban redevelopment as means of dealing with the variety of problems associated with an emerging ghetto. Virtually from the time it was ﬁrst discussed, however, the rather extensive Ellicott district redevelopment project faced several obstacles. In reality, the project began with the construction of two New York State-funded public housing developments in the Ellicott district in the 1950s. Before the city got involved in the federal urban renewal program, it sought monies from New York State for slum clearance and public housing. As shown in chapter four, the city had already built several housing developments with federal assistance. But in

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the 1950s it began to seek government assistance for the construction of public housing from New York State. In order to evaluate the consequences of the federal urban redevelopment project in the Ellicott district, it is ﬁrst necessary to look at the project within the context of several other housing decisions made by the city during this time period. As will be apparent, race continued to be the driving force in housing policy. By the middle 1960s, the effects of several policies had contributed both directly and indirectly to the conditions in the east side’s lower income areas. Redevelopment and public housing policies were not simply the result of elites trying to hinder black mobility or make land adjacent to downtown more presentable. Rather, they reﬂected a much broader tension between the white population the growing African American population.

State-Funded Public Housing and the Origins of Redevelopment in the Ellicott District Early in 1951, after assessing the city’s housing situation, the BMHA announced a plan to apply to the New York State Housing Commission for roughly $25 million for four new public housing projects as well as other small redevelopment projects, including a park and downtown parking facilities. The BMHA’s original plan called for approximately 1,700 new units divided into four projects in three areas of the city—one in the Ellicott district, two sites in south Buffalo, and one in north Buffalo. Despite the fact that the proposed sites in north and south Buffalo were in white neighborhoods, the common council approved the BMHA plan by a vote of thirteen to two on October 24, 1951. However, the council qualiﬁed its approval by stipulating that it reserved the right to change the sites at a later date.4 This qualiﬁed approval was no real surprise. Just one week earlier, because of the reservations of several council members on the proposed sites of the state-funded housing, the BMHA maintained that it had received assurances from the New York State Housing Commissioner that substitutions in the original sites would be acceptable, even after the city’s loan application had been approved.5 Once it had this assurance from the state, the council approved the BMHA plan, then only needing the approval of the mayor for the state-funded program to be implemented.

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Apparently the verbal approval of the state was not sufﬁcient for Mayor Mruk, however, as he vetoed the council-approved plan in October 1951. Mruk stated that a public hearing should have been held on the issue, and, despite the claims made by the BMHA, expressed his doubts that sites could be substituted after the state had already approved the city’s application. The mayor assured everyone, however, that Buffalo would not lose the state assistance if the city developed a new plan in a timely fashion.6 BMHA chairman Arthur Victor quickly denounced the mayor’s veto for putting such a huge subsidy to the city in jeopardy. Nevertheless, the council decided not to attempt to override the veto and instructed the BMHA to immediately begin creating a new plan, with new sites, and prepare for a public hearing on the matter. Shortly after the mayor’s veto, the council conducted a public hearing. This hearing had originally been planned to solicit reaction to the proposed construction of a separate, federally funded housing development in north Buffalo. The effort to determine public views on the proposed state funded housing was actually an afterthought prompted by the mayor’s veto. The hearing went as expected with many residents claiming that their neighborhood was no place for public housing. Though in a somewhat muted form, the conﬂicts the city had experienced during 1941 and 1942 seemed to be repeating themselves. With the location of the state-funded housing still not deﬁnite, in October 1951, a group of one hundred prominent private citizens formed the Buffalo Redevelopment Committee. The newly formed group urged the council to abandon the BMHA’s initial plan to build the state housing in various locations around the city and use all of the monies to construct new public housing in the Ellicott district.7 With neighborhood and elite opposition to public housing anywhere but in the Ellicott district, the sites in south and north Buffalo were rapidly becoming long shots, at best. In mid-November 1951, just a few weeks after the public hearing, the BMHA submitted to the council its revised plan for state funded housing. The new plan called for 1,700 units divided into three developments, two of which were in the Ellicott district, and one a site also on the east side, several blocks to the north at Kensington and Fillmore Avenues. The three previous sites located in north and south Buffalo had been abandoned. The revised plan received approval by the necessary parties, including the council, the mayor, the planning commission, and eventually the state housing commissioner. But the decision-making process was prolonged

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for several more months because opposition remained over the sites of the new public housing. With the sites of the state-funded housing looking more certain, however, in January 1952, the planning commission submitted a master plan for the Ellicott district to the council. The commission saw itself as acting in accord with New York State law requiring a neighborhoodwide master plan to accompany the construction of public housing. Thus the master plan did not include any federal urban programs. It was not until three months later, in March 1952, that the city entered into a contract with the federal government to even study urban redevelopment. But the planning commission’s master plan provided a basis for serious discussion of major redevelopment in the Ellicott district. In March 1952, with the siting of public housing in the Ellicott district looking inevitable, and preliminary plans for redevelopment progressing, a number of residents in the affected area formed the Ellicott District Property Owners Association (EDPOA). The group, which was closely allied with the Criterion newspaper, consisted primarily of black property owners who were opposed to demolition of their homes to construct public housing. The EDPOA continually stressed the need to rehabilitate housing rather than simply raze older homes in need of repair. The members of the property owners association were Republicans and opposed most Democratic initiatives, including redevelopment. The election of Democratic African American councilmen from the Ellicott district throughout the 1950s, however, illustrated that the opposition expressed to redevelopment by the property owners was, in fact, a minority viewpoint. Nonetheless, the opinions expressed by the EDPOA forced the BMHA to more fully explain the process of dislocation and rehousing of affected residents. Residents in the Ellicott district who would have to abandon their houses for construction of the new projects were told that they would get ﬁrst priority to live in one of two other projects that were already under construction and would be completed before the Ellicott construction would begin. Affected residents were also told that if eligible, they would have ﬁrst priority for occupancy in the two new Ellicott projects. These assurances were not what the opposition to urban renewal was seeking, however. They wanted the project to be either radically changed or abandoned, and since the previous public hearing focused on construction of a federal project in north Buffalo and only touched on the issue of Ellicott housing, the EDPOA

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petitioned the council for a public hearing solely on the proposed New York State housing, a request which the council eventually granted. At the hearing, the EDPOA made its case, and argued strenuously against the idea of giving up their homes so that the city could build public housing not only in their neighborhood, but on the actual site of their homes. Logically, therefore, the property owners association had a much stronger case than other neighborhoods around the city which had opposed public housing construction since the late 1930s. Other neighborhoods in south and north Buffalo, and some of the neighborhoods on the far east side, invariably opposed public housing because it would, they believed, adversely affect their neighborhoods. But the city’s proposals for public housing in these neighborhoods usually were on vacant land, which meant that the effects of such housing would at most be indirect on the surrounding neighborhood. The Ellicott housing was fundamentally different—the effects of the project would be directly felt by the residents since they would be forced to abandon their homes so the housing could be built. Clearly it was an uphill battle for any opposition to the projects, though, since the vast majority of city residents, and the council members they elected, supported the idea of the state-funded developments being built in the Ellicott district. The EDPOA repeatedly petitioned the council to completely rescind the plan to build the two projects in the Ellicott district, however. The council had changed its mind before, so it was not inconceivable that it might change its mind again on this issue, or perhaps even abandon the state application all together. At the May 27 meeting of the council, however, despite pressure by the property owners association, the council did not want to budge. Ellicott district councilman Leeland Jones, the only African American member at the time, pushed for a vote on the resolution to rescind the two sites in the district, which the council voted down. The question of the location of the New York State housing was ﬁnally settled. The construction of the two developments in the Ellicott district began the next year, displacing 2,464 individuals, 72 percent of whom were African American.8 The two projects, named Ellicott and Talbert Malls, were quite large, having eight eight-story buildings containing 590 units, and twelve seven- and eight-story buildings containing 763 units. The remainder of the state assistance went for the construction of Kensington Heights, located on the

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east side several blocks to the north. White residents had once again successfully kept public housing out of their neighborhoods, and the process of site selection clearly illustrated the lack of political power of the black community and also contributed further to the increasing residential segregation of the city as a whole. In such an environment, with African Americans and whites less likely to come into direct contact with each other, stereotypes ﬂourish and race relations suffer. While the issue of the state housing was settled, the question of redevelopment in the Ellicott district was still very much unsettled. At the same meeting which the council rejected reconsideration of the state housing, it also approved the planning commission’s master plan for the district, and sent it to Mayor Mruk for his approval. In a somewhat surprising move, the mayor vetoed the commission’s Ellicott district master plan. Calling Ellicott district redevelopment “imperative,” however, the mayor maintained that his action was taken to “avoid any possibility that by its approval the City is committed to a redevelopment of the area in a manner shown on the map.” 9 Mruk proceeded to appoint a temporary eleven-member redevelopment committee until a permanent agency was created.10 The temporary committee consisted of ﬁve high ranking city ofﬁcials, two labor representatives, two individuals involved in the construction industry, a banker, and the vice president of the Urban League Board of Directors. More important than the various occupations of the members, however, was the racial composition of the committee—ten whites to one African American. Later in 1952, the temporary redevelopment committee submitted a slightly modiﬁed master plan for the Ellicott district to the council. It was approved unanimously by the council, and shortly thereafter approved by the mayor. The following year, the council created a permanent seven-member board of redevelopment to organize and implement the city’s federal urban redevelopment program. The board, with no African American members, began work on November 1, 1953, and oversaw the newly created division of redevelopment in the executive department. A prominent black dentist was appointed as a liaison ofﬁcer to the board for the black community, but no African American members were appointed to the permanent redevelopment board until 1959. Clearly the racial composition of the board was critical since a majority of individuals who lived in the area to be redeveloped were African American. Although the city had not yet applied to

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the federal government for urban renewal aid, with the passage of the temporary redevelopment committee’s master plan for the Ellicott district, and the creation of the permanent board of redevelopment, by the end of 1953 it appeared as if a large-scale redevelopment plan in the Ellicott district was inevitable.

Federal Urban Renewal in the Ellicott District Background: Housing and Living Conditions The Ellicott district is one of the oldest areas of Buffalo, and plans to redevelop the area had been discussed for quite some time prior to the 1950s. Part of the district was ﬁrst ofﬁcially labeled a slum in a 1939 survey conducted by the planning board.11 Redevelopment plans for the area were ﬁrst proposed in the 1940s by a local committee of architects, engineers, and landscape designers.12 So when the federal government passed urban redevelopment legislation in 1949, the Ellicott district was among the most likely places for any redevelopment in the city to take place. There was a certain degree of concurrence that a serious housing problem had developed in the Ellicott district in the late 1940s and early 1950s. What was not agreed upon, however, were the causes and possible prescriptions for that problem. Despite a city population that was consistently increasing for several decades up through 1950, there had been no new private housing built in the Ellicott district for ﬁfty years. The 1950 census labeled 26 percent of all the housing there dilapidated. During the debate in 1951 about the siting of the state public housing, several leaders in the district sponsored a clean-up drive in their neighborhood both to survey the existing situation and to improve physical conditions in the area. What was revealed during the clean-up drive, and covered extensively by the local papers, was that conditions in parts of the Ellicott district were approaching unlivable. Overcrowding was quite common, with several people often living in one room; many houses were in extremely poor condition, frequently in need of the most basic repairs; garbage was collecting in many places, and so forth. The worst conditions were in predominantly black areas. Yet a substantial majority—approximately 77 percent—of all of the housing units in the city occupied by black residents were rented, however. Many African American tenants maintained that they lived

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under the constant threat of eviction if they reported the conditions of their homes to the proper authorities.13 A number of studies were also initiated to examine the housing in the district, one of which found that in two sections, one in three homes was a slum, and over 40 percent of the homes were close to collapsing.14 In August 1951, the city’s interdepartmental committee on housing conducted an intensive survey of a small section of the district in order to provide agencies and the public with precise information. Several judges afﬁliated with a newly established housing court also visited the area to inspect the conditions there ﬁrsthand.15 A few years later, in October 1954, a survey by the Erie County Department of Health found that in a section of the district, 78 percent of the structures lacked central heating, 49 percent had extreme outside deterioration, and 45 percent had extreme inside deterioration.16 Underlying these studies, and the newspaper articles that described them, was the notion that the Ellicott district, or at least a large part of it, had real problems, and drastic action might be necessary. There were different assessments as to the basic causes of the housing problems in the district, however. While the many reports put together by local government ofﬁcials and agencies tended to implicitly equate the situation in the Ellicott district with the lifestyles of the residents, groups such as the Urban League and outside observers gave much more explanatory power to racial discrimination as the underlying dynamic at work. For example, a 1956 New York State housing study noted that: The housing problem of nonwhites in Buffalo is symbolized by their concentration in the Ellicott district where over half of the housing is substandard. It is probably within this constricted area that they compete most desperately for living space and most frequently pay excessive rents. . . . One of the most serious stumbling blocks to improving the housing status of nonwhites in Buffalo is that suburban areas are closed to them. They must, therefore, compete for housing space within the conﬁnes of the central city. Nonwhite families will be largely conﬁned to slum life in Buffalo so long as prevailing patterns of segregation both in the suburbs and the central city are maintained.17 As noted by the state report, the problem of overcrowding was unquestionably due to the fact that blacks were still kept out of

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large sections of the city, and the emerging suburbs were essentially completely off-limits to the African American community. The living conditions in the district also attracted the attention of the national media. A 1958 front-page article in the Wall Street Journal on the Ellicott district contained the three-part headline: “Rising Negro Inﬂux Stirs New Trouble for Harried Civic Planners: Buffalo Fears It May Trade Old Slums For New, Lose Taxes as Whites Depart: Setback For Desegregation?”18 The article was based largely on interviews with several white ofﬁcials and black leaders, some anonymous, and speculated about the causes of the many problems in Ellicott. Increasing residential segregation, both within the city itself and between the city and the suburbs, was discussed in relation to the troubling conditions on the lower east side. Outside observers, then, appeared more willing to entertain the idea that racial discrimination was at the heart of the housing problem in the Ellicott district. An issue parallel to the housing problem in the Ellicott district was the issue of housing availability throughout the entire city. There was a continuing debate during the 1950s about the housing vacancy rate, both for rent and for sale. There was no universal agreement on this issue either, however. A number of surveys and studies were conducted on these issues with quite different ﬁndings. For example, a 1952 study by the Buffalo Chamber of Commerce—a group that was often opposed to the construction of more public housing—revealed a housing surplus in the area.19 The city’s overall population was in fact dropping during the 1950s, with a net population loss of over 420 residents per year. But the 1956 New York State report found the city’s vacancy rate to be quite low, despite “ﬁve years of unprecedented residential construction in the Buffalo Standard Metropolitan Area.”20 The most signiﬁcant dimension of the housing situation, however, was that despite the fact that the racial makeup of the city was changing dramatically with the number of blacks consistently increasing, large parts of the city and the suburbs were still not open to African American residents, making any aggregate measure of housing vacancies meaningless. In reality, there were two vacancy rates— one for whites and one for African Americans. During the 1950s, because of a decreasing white population, the vacancy rate for whites was at least constant, if not increasing. In light of the continued geographic concentration of blacks, however, it was evident that the vacancy rate for African Americans at this time was constant, or perhaps even decreasing.21

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With overcrowding and poor housing, other social problems became prevalent in the Ellicott district during the 1950s as well. For example, in 1954 the Urban League noted that the district’s three wards had higher than average death rates, and substantially higher than average rates of tuberculosis, pneumonia, and inﬂuenza.22 By 1955, of the sixteen police precincts in the city, precincts three, four, and eight, which comprised the vast majority of the Ellicott district, had much higher rates of robbery, burglary, and auto theft than any other area of the city. Further, twelve of seventeen, or 71 percent, of all the city’s homicides that year occurred in these three precincts.23 Despite the substantial objective evidence which indicated that racial discrimination was at the root of the various problems facing the black community, assessments of the situation seemed to depend on the perspective of the observer. The debate at the local level, fueled by consistent opposition of white neighborhoods, ultimately adopted traditional assumptions of the culture of poverty perspective—in other words, the Ellicott district possessed certain problems mainly because of the behavior of its residents. This position made it easier for white neighborhoods and suburban areas to rationalize keeping blacks out. They frequently labeled African Americans “undesirables,” which ultimately increased support for further redevelopment and public housing construction in African American residential locations. And by frequently running stories on the living conditions in the Ellicott district during the early 1950s, both of the city’s daily newspapers were implicitly arguing for major redevelopment of the area. In any case, the short-lived Ellicott district clean-up drive and subsequent studies and reports did bring some issues to the forefront of discussion. Even though the solutions to the problems brought out into the open were far from self-evident, many observers were increasingly framing the issue in terms only of wholesale redevelopment as the best possible alternative. The Beginning of the Project With the approval by both the council and mayor of a master plan for the Ellicott district, beginning in late 1953, the board of redevelopment began to prepare an application to the federal government for federal urban renewal.24 After approximately two years of open discussion and conﬂict on this issue, the process of making concrete plans for redevelopment was relatively quiet, with plans

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proceeding, for the most part, behind the scenes. Plans continued throughout the middle 1950s, and local ofﬁcials involved in redevelopment anticipated immediate federal approval of the city’s application. During the application stage, the redevelopment project gradually increased in size and scope. By 1956, two more blocks and several large-scale site improvements and supporting facilities had been added to the original proposal. As a result of the increased size, the redevelopment board increased the amount of aid it sought from the federal government. After submitting preliminary redevelopment plans to the federal government in 1956, however, the city was told by the FHA that the construction costs, and subsequent rental costs, were too high in the proposed redevelopment area, thus making the FHA mortgages too risky. However, just a few months later, new regulations were adopted by the FHA regarding cost calculation, and by the end of October 1956, the city was informed that the Ellicott district redevelopment project would be eligible for federal aid. By the end of December 1957, the city had entered into a contract with the U.S. Housing and Home Finance Agency for the project. The ﬁnal plan was quite extensive, covering thirty-six square blocks, or 161 acres, from Michigan Avenue on the eastern edge to Jefferson Avenue on the west, and William Street on the northern border to Swan Street on the south. Most of the streets going through the renewal area in a north-south direction would be terminated at the project’s boundary line, making the renewal area effectively self-contained. Ellicott and Talbert Malls sat at either end of the redevelopment area, thus were technically not part of it. The plan called for 1,100 units of housing to be constructed in single and small, multiple-family private dwellings; it did not call for the construction of any additional public housing. With the construction of Ellicott and Talbert Malls progressing, and several other public housing developments already in existence, many of which were also on the east side, city ofﬁcials apparently thought there was no need for any additional large-scale public housing. Like many urban renewal plans around the country, the redevelopment plan looked good on paper. As discussed above, there was a certain amount of agreement among both city ofﬁcials and residents that something had to be done to address the housing problems in the Ellicott district. Recognizing this, local politicians began to refer to the problem of urban blight more frequently. During his campaign for mayor in 1957, Democrat Frank Sedita frequently alluded to urban renewal as being the city’s ﬁrst prior-

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ity, arguing that slums were in need of immediate attention.25 After Sedita’s extremely narrow victory in the 1957 election, support for redevelopment among a majority of the city’s elected ofﬁcials was solidiﬁed.26 Because there had been a number of changes made in the plan since its original acceptance by the council several years earlier, however, a public hearing was again necessary before any redevelopment could begin. Opposition to the plan was not limited to African Americans. Several white property owners in the area, including many small business owners, also opposed the plan. Despite losing the battle over Ellicott and Talbert Malls, the Ellicott District Property Owners Association remained active, and adamantly opposed the plan, along with the Criterion, the William Street Merchants Association, and several local ministers. Several African American groups supported the project, however, including the Urban League, which argued that the long-term effects of new housing would far outweigh any temporary problems caused by redevelopment. Further, both African American council members (representing the Ellicott and Masten districts) supported the plan. And despite questions raised earlier by elected Republicans, a majority of the council was already on record as supporting Ellicott district redevelopment.27 During the early stages of the project, the assumption underlying the discussion was that building housing in the redevelopment area would commence immediately after the acquisition and demolition of the properties, which was to begin promptly after local ofﬁcials signed off on the plan. In 1958, then, the expectation was that at least some of the 1,100 new units of housing were going to be constructed and ready for occupancy by 1961 or 1962. Clearly there would have been minimal support for a plan that called for housing construction at some point in the unspeciﬁed future, particularly from those persons immediately affected. The comments at the November 1958 public hearing on the revised version of the project were not surprising, but did reveal divisions within the African American community. These divisions should not be exaggerated, though, as there was widespread agreement within the black community that something had to be done about the conditions in the Ellicott district. Black council members and the Urban League favored redevelopment, whereas a minority of African Americans, as represented by the Ellicott District Property Owners Association, the Criterion, and several small business owners, favored a more stringent system of code enforcement. These

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differences of opinion mattered little, however, as shortly after the hearing, the council approved the revised plan fourteen to zero. The redevelopment board immediately got to work on acquiring land in the renewal area. Demolition and Relocation Acquisition and demolition of the properties in the redevelopment area began in December 1958, almost immediately after council approval of the plan. The project dislocated 2,219 families. There were 1,235 buildings with 1,017 owners in the area to be razed, which demonstrated the scope of the project.28 The BMHA, which was under contract to relocate the families displaced, took 1,570 families onto its workload. The remainder of those displaced found their own new housing without city assistance.29 Relocation took place in several phases, and was completed by April 1961.30 According to the BMHA, just over 80 percent of the families relocated were African American. Seventy-nine percent of all blacks relocated were renters, with the remaining 21 percent owning their own homes.31 And the pattern of urban renewal relocation in other cities was echoed in Buffalo, as the vast majority of blacks displaced by the Ellicott project were relocated to areas that already possessed large black populations.32 Speciﬁcally, 86 percent of all the black residents displaced were moved to either elsewhere in the Ellicott district or to the Masten district—the only two areas in the city with measurable black populations.33 This contrasted directly with the relocation of white residents, who were distributed fairly evenly throughout the city, to areas in north and south Buffalo as well as parts of the west side.34 Of all white households relocated because of the project, 91 percent were moved to areas outside of the Masten and Ellicott districts. Throughout the relocation process, the city’s African American population continued to increase signiﬁcantly. But since Ellicott and Talbert Malls were not ready for occupancy until the latter part of 1959 and a thirty-six square block area was in the process of being demolished, there simply was not that much housing available in a large part of the lower east side for the expanding black population. Consequently, most blacks migrating to Buffalo during the middle and late 1950s moved directly into the Masten district. The city, therefore, maintained that the relocation of a large number of African Americans into the Masten district was part of larger, naturally occurring population shift:

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Relocation from the Ellicott Redevelopment Project occurred at a time when large-scale population movement was taking place in the City of Buffalo, particularly in the central city area. The scope of relocation activity was small compared with the total pattern of population movement already in force. Ellicott Relocation, in fact, was swept up into this larger population movement and became a part of it.35 A result of the increasing exodus of whites from the east side was an increase in the availability of private housing. Only 14.3 percent of all of the African Americans relocated by the BMHA were moved into public housing.36 The Masten district experienced turnover in much the same manner that Ellicott had a few years earlier. Also displaced by redevelopment were roughly 250 businesses, almost all of which were small, neighborhood-oriented businesses, such as restaurants, laundromats, grocery stores, taverns, and the like.37 Of these businesses, approximately one hundred were black-owned, with the remaining 150 owned almost entirely by Jewish and Italian Americans.38 William Street was hit especially hard, as its southern edge from Michigan to Jefferson—the section to be redeveloped—had been lined with neighborhood businesses of all types. Numerous small businesses were also located on the other main streets in the redevelopment area, particularly Michigan Avenue, and Swan and Clinton Streets. Residential disruption, therefore, was only one dimension of the effects of redevelopment. One of the most obvious immediate effects of the demolition of the redevelopment area was the large decrease in the population of the Ellicott district. With the displacement of residents, ﬁrst as a result of the construction of Ellicott and Talbert Malls in the middle 1950s, and then because of redevelopment in 1959, the population of the district began a long and gradual decline. Census data reveal a population decrease in the district of 19,761, or 27 percent, between 1950 to 1960. By 1960, when demolition was in full swing, the city’s entire population continued to undergo signiﬁcant change. The other two ethnic groups in the Ellicott district, Jews and Italians, had, after many years of discrimination, successfully made inroads into other neighborhoods. Jewish residents were much more easily able to move into other parts of the city and many even began to move to the suburbs, and Italian Americans began to move in substantial numbers to the west side, which had become the home of a large Italian American community by the 1950s. While moving a business,

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like being forced to relocate, is certainly a hardship, Jewish and Italian residents and small business owners who were displaced by redevelopment had several choices about where to go, unlike African Americans living in the redevelopment area, who had far fewer choices available to them. In 1960, black businesses and residents could only really move a few blocks to the north or a few blocks to the east. With the white population continuing its migration from the lower and central east side, and with black residential areas of the Ellicott district becoming less densely populated, a large number of east side neighborhood businesses felt the effects of redevelopment, either directly as a result of displacement, or indirectly as a result of the effects of a declining base of neighborhood customers. Relocation of residents continued throughout 1960 and 1961. The population of the Ellicott district persistently declined. By 1960, as African Americans continued to move into the central east side, and whites continued to leave, the Ellicott and Masten districts had become the city’s predominantly black council districts.

Race, Elections, and Representation The 1950s saw several political gains for Buffalo’s black community, and consequently a lessening of the political isolation of African Americans. Although redevelopment plans proceeded with no blacks on the redevelopment board, African Americans were making some progress into the local political structure. Throughout the decade, African Americans had been consistently elected to the council from the Ellicott district. Beginning in 1957, because of the rather rapid population change taking place, they had been elected from Masten also. And not only did the Masten district elect a black council member for the ﬁrst time in 1957, but it also elected the ﬁrst woman to the common council, Cora Maloney. An African American was for the ﬁrst time appointed to the board of the BMHA in 1958. While there were still no blacks on the school board, the late 1950s marked measurable political advancement for the black community. The early 1960s, however, produced some unexpected events in electoral politics, both citywide and within the black community. The city charter had been changed in 1960 to allow for mayoral succession, giving Mayor Sedita the opportunity to be the ﬁrst chief executive to serve more than one consecutive term. In the spring of 1961, Democrat Sedita, however, was defeated by North district

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Councilman Victor Manz in the mayoral primary. After losing the primary, Sedita, backed by the Erie County Democratic organization, ran for reelection as an independent. Sedita’s choice to run as an independent had the effect of splitting the Democratic vote, and the result was the election of Chester Kowal, a Republican, to the mayor’s ofﬁce with only 38 percent of the total vote. With a council that had become increasingly Democratic, the election of a Republican mayor proved to be a major cause of the many delays in Ellicott redevelopment. Nineteen sixty-one also proved to be an unpredictable year for African American politics. Even though a large number of black residents had been relocated for redevelopment, the percentage of African Americans in Ellicott was still increasing consistently. By 1960, the district was roughly 60 percent African American. In 1961, Ellicott Councilman Wilbur Trammell was challenged in the primary by former Councilman Leeland Jones, Jr., and a political newcomer, an Irish American by the name of James Grifﬁn. The Irish had settled in the Ellicott district’s old first ward in the midnineteenth century, and gradually moved into south Buffalo during the latter nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The old ﬁrst ward remained the place of residence for many Irish Americans, however, and it was Grifﬁn’s home neighborhood. In the primary, the black vote split between Jones and incumbent Trammell, which helped Grifﬁn to win with only 44 percent of the total vote. Considering the gains that the black community had experienced in terms of political representation, it was clear that Grifﬁn would not go unchallenged in the general election by the African American community. Two African American candidates ultimately ended up challenging him, including Trammell running as an independent and an African American Republican candidate. As the Democratic primary winner, Grifﬁn had a measurable advantage. Gradually since the formation of the New Deal coalition, blacks had become an integral part of the national Democratic party, particularly in northern states. This gave any Democratic primary winner a substantial built-in advantage in attracting the votes of African Americans. But the demographic dimension of representation was beginning to emerge as a critical issue. While it was clear that Grifﬁn, as the Democratic candidate, would attract some black voters, it was equally clear that if he faced any African American opposition, in any party, the election could prove to be unpredictable. Another important advantage Grifﬁn had in the election of 1961 was a transient black population. From the end of 1959 through

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1961, many black residents were being relocated for redevelopment, primarily to either the Masten district or to other parts of the Ellicott district. Just a few years earlier, large numbers of black residents had been relocated for the construction Ellicott and Talbert Malls, many of whom were moved into Dante Place—a new housing development located just southwest of downtown on the waterfront. At the same time, blacks continued to migrate to the city from the south. The movement of the black population within the city seems to have been one factor in depressing voter turnout during the elections of the late 1950s, and more than likely did so again in 1961. In the end, Grifﬁn won the election by receiving 57 percent of the approximately eleven thousand votes cast, with the remainder going to the two black candidates. He was reelected in 1963, but with the Ellicott district becoming increasingly African American and the variable of race becoming more signiﬁcant in electoral politics, Grifﬁn decided to try his hand at higher elective ofﬁce. After losing an at-large council bid in 1965, Griffin sought and won a seat in the New York State Senate in 1966. From 1961 through 1965, then, during the years of the extended controversy over redevelopment in the Ellicott district, black representation on the council was given a temporary setback, with only one of ﬁfteen members being African American, Delmar Mitchell from the Masten district. Despite the increasing black population, gradual political progress was certainly not automatic for the African American community.

Race, Housing, and Neighborhood Composition Residential segregation is caused by a number of forces, both private and public. Thus far, the discussion of the relationship between race and public housing and redevelopment has focused on the actions of local government. This is only part of the story, though, as the private real estate market plays a large role in bringing about segregated communities, and has many methods of doing so, among which is blockbusting. Blockbusting in the Masten District One tactic used by real estate agents in American cities during the 1950s and 1960s was blockbusting: the practice of convincing white home owners to sell their property immediately after any

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black residents moved into their neighborhood. The idea promoted by agents engaged in blockbusting was that once African Americans move into an area, the value of all housing in the vicinity automatically decreases. The sooner a homeowner in a racially changing neighborhood sells his or her property, then, the better, because real estate values would only continue to decrease as more black residents moved into the neighborhood, or so the argument went. As blacks began to move into the Masten district in large numbers in the 1950s and early 1960s, real estate agents in the area began to actively engage in blockbusting, causing white residents to leave even faster. Although mainly a technique utilized by white real estate agents, some black agents also engaged in blockbusting.39 The Masten District Community Relations Council ﬁrst called attention to the problem in 1958, sending a resolution condemning the practice to the board of community relations, the Better Business Bureau, the New York State Commission Against Discrimination, the Buffalo Board of Realtors, and the Buffalo Urban Renewal Coordinator. The resolution read, in part: “[A]n integrated neighborhood can never be achieved or maintained while such practices continue—We therefore request scrutiny and investigation of the persons engaged in such practices and that appropriate action be taken.”40 As more blacks moved into white sections of the Masten district, blockbusting continued into the early 1960s, and became an issue of political discussion. The common council responded to the problem in 1964 by unanimously passing an antiblockbusting ordinance introduced by Masten District Councilman Mitchell. The ordinance, which created a maximum $500 penalty and/or one-year imprisonment, made it illegal for those engaged in the “[s]ale, lease or other transfer of real estate, to engender attitudes of prejudice and discrimination or develop unfounded fears about the value of real property or create patterns of economic and social exploitation or create conditions which develop segregated communities.”41 The ordinance went on to spell out the speciﬁc methods of blockbusting prohibited, which included any telephone calls, personal visits, or mailings which prompted homeowners to sell their homes for racial reasons. It was politically easy for council members to support the ordinance, which is why it passed unanimously. First of all, blockbusting is virtually a sinister practice. When real estate agents engage in blockbusting, they tap into and exacerbate existing racial fears and prejudices, which leads to more rapid neighborhood change. And, after all is said and done, the agents make a proﬁt for

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themselves. Such behavior is morally dubious, going well beyond traditional forms of racism, and certainly has the effect of contributing to further discrimination. Thus it would be quite difﬁcult for any member of the council to oppose an ordinance prohibiting blockbusting. Another reason that it was easy for council members to support the ordinance was that blockbusting was a problem that was basically conﬁned to the Masten district, and not an issue in the other council districts. More than likely the ordinance was perceived by council members as having no effect on their district, hence no political cost. This perception made the debate over blockbusting inherently different from the frequently acrimonious debate over open housing, which began later in the 1960s. Further, the ordinance did not establish any enforcement mechanism, which was yet another reason it enjoyed such support. Presumably the antiblockbusting ordinance was supposed to work more as a deterrent than anything else. In certain respects, the council’s passage of the ordinance was similar to its creation of the board of community relations in 1946. Both acts provided the appearance of addressing racial problems, but neither policy was authoritative enough to create any signiﬁcant change. Making blockbusting illegal was an important act, however, in that it brought attention to this practice and contributed to a higher level of scrutiny over the private real estate market. For a variety of reasons, though, blockbusting among them,42 racial turnover continued in the Masten district throughout the 1960s, while the rest of the city remained predominantly, and in many cases exclusively, white, a fact reinforced by several public housing decisions made during this time. Public Housing and Neighborhoods Ellicott and Talbert Malls were not the only public housing built during the 1950s. By 1960, the city had constructed eight federally subsidized housing developments and ﬁve state-assisted projects in several locations around the city,43 which were collectively home for over twenty thousand individuals.44 But despite the BMHA stated policy to create integrated public housing, and the illegality of public housing segregation in New York State, data from 1960 reveal that most of the city’s public housing was still highly segregated. The developments located in predominantly black neighborhoods were kept almost exclusively black, while develop-

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ments in either all white or predominantly white neighborhoods, which were located mainly in the northern and northeastern areas of the city were, for the most part, kept white. From the time they opened in 1959, Ellicott and Talbert Malls had over 90 percent black occupancy, and, as time passed, approached 100 percent. The development at Willert Park, over which there had been such controversy during 1941 and 1942, was still 100 percent black in 1960. The designation of Willert Park and its extension as all-black housing twenty years earlier was effectively the city’s declaration that the east side would be the black neighborhood. By keeping the public housing in the lower east side almost exclusively black during the 1950s and 1960s, while at the same time keeping public housing in other parts of the city predominantly or exclusively white, the city reinforced the very neighborhood patterns that it had helped create, and only exacerbated the spatial isolation of the African American residential community. This made it easier for the private real estate industry and property owners in white sections of the city and the suburbs to continue to discriminate and keep blacks out of their neighborhoods. Buffalo was rapidly becoming a segregated city. Aside from Ellicott and Talbert Malls and Willert Park, there were only two projects that had more than a token black presence during this time period. One was the Commodore Perry development, located on Perry Street in the old first ward, which in 1960 had approximately 25 percent black residents.45 The other development with a measurable black population was Dante Place, a New York State-assisted project that had been built in 1952. By 1959 it had become the most integrated public housing of any in the city. All that changed, however, as the reasonably integrated public housing known as Dante Place became the virtually all-white middle-income apartments known as Marine Drive in 1960. The Conversion of Dante Place Waterfront development has been discussed intermittently over the years in Buffalo. In light of the success of waterfront development in another deindustrialized city, Cleveland, the subject has been revived again in recent years. The Buffalo waterfront has some attractive characteristics, perhaps the most obvious of which is its proximity to downtown. One can walk the handful of city blocks from the central business district southwest to the shores of Lake Erie in a matter of minutes.

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Located along the city’s waterfront today are the Marine Drive apartments. The apartments overlook the lake, and their convenience and scenic location make them a desirable place to live. Marine Drive apartments are not traditional private housing, however. Originally built in 1952 with funds from New York State, the apartment complex was known as Dante Place until its conversion in 1960 to what was at the time labeled “middle income cooperative housing.” Before the original construction of the Dante Place project, the housing located on the site of the apartments, according to the BMHA, “represented one of the worst substandard areas in the City of Buffalo, not only in terms of the physical decline of its buildings but in its reputation for social unrest.”46 Primarily the home for Italian Americans, the area’s housing was in poor condition, and became the subject of more discussion during the 1930s and 1940s. So when New York adopted a slum clearance and public housing program in the 1940s, Dante Place was, after the Ellicott district, the most likely candidate for demolition and public housing construction. Demolition of the properties and construction began in 1948, displacing over one hundred families.47 Seven twelve-story apartments were constructed, designed to house over two thousand residents, making it the city’s most ambitious public housing venture to date. Once it was opened for occupancy, the Dante Place apartments became the most integrated of all of the city’s public housing. In 1954, for example, the apartments were roughly 36 percent black, housing substantially more than the token number of African Americans living at the predominantly white projects.48 One of the main reasons for the large number of black residents at Dante Place was the dislocation of families in the Ellicott district for the construction of Ellicott and Talbert Malls in 1953 and 1954. Hundreds of black residents were moved from the sites of the two new projects in the Ellicott district into the apartments at Dante Place. The relatively large number of blacks moved into the new apartments at Dante Place by the BMHA were probably moved there by default rather than from any conscious desire to have truly integrated public housing, policy and rhetoric notwithstanding. Since the project was located on Lake Erie, adjacent to downtown, and was not actually within a residential community, neighborhood opposition was negligible. For blacks, however, it was a step in the right direction. Not only was the development located outside the section of the city to which African Americans had been conﬁned,

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it was west of Main Street, the informal boundary beyond which almost no blacks had ever moved prior to that time.49 During the mid-1950s, more blacks took up residence at Dante Place, and by 1959, the apartments had 68 percent African American occupancy.50 Because of the relative economic disadvantage of blacks, a higher percentage of African American residents necessarily meant a lower median income level at the development. Despite rising black occupancy, whites remained at Dante Place, and in 1959 it still represented the most integrated project in the city. In the interim, however, during November and December 1955, the living conditions at Dante Place were called into question in a series of articles in the Evening News. The articles described the litter, broken windows, and poorly maintained buildings at the development, thereby initiating strong criticisms of the BMHA. Admitting there were problems at Dante Place, the BMHA publicly defended its management practices. Behind the scenes, though, discussion of the long-range plans for Dante Place had begun. Within city government, the real issue of discussion was not the conditions at Dante Place, but rather the project’s location. Situated on the waterfront, it was in the immediate vicinity of land that had been repeatedly proposed for redevelopment since the 30s. The redevelopment board has been in contact with the BMHA about the issue, and in 1959 informed the authority that “the present status of Dante Place does not encourage the best use of land in the waterfront redevelopment program.”51 New York law allowed local governments, with state approval, to convert low-income public housing to middle-income housing. Under state law, upon converting a low-income development, the housing would be leased by the local housing authority to a private management company responsible for the day-to-day operations. The local housing authority retained a certain amount of oversight, however, the result of which was the creation of quasi-public, middle-income housing. After several studies and discussions of the conversion plans, on November 13, 1959, the BMHA, acting with the approval of the redevelopment board, formally issued a proposal to convert Dante Place to middle-income apartments. The recommendation was shortly thereafter approved by New York State authorities. It was well known to everyone involved that in order to implement the conversion plan, it would be necessary to evict many of the tenants. And because of their lower economic status, African American tenants would be hit especially hard by the conversion. At the time the

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authority released its ofﬁcial proposal, the ﬁve-person board was operating with only four members. The ﬁfth member, who also happened to be the ﬁrst African American member ever appointed to the board, had ﬁnished his term on August 24 and had not yet been replaced.52 At the time of the conversion, then, the board consisted of all-white membership. Thus there was no formal African American input into the decision. The BMHA was in an awkward position when it came to justifying its conversion plans for Dante Place. In May 1960, the authority released a document entitled “The Story of Dante Place: Public Housing, Race Relations, Urban Renewal, and Community Responsibility.” It illustrated the numerous contradictions in the BMHA’s ofﬁcial explanation of the entire issue. On the one hand, the BMHA insisted that despite some problems, a “liveable housing situation” did exist at Dante Place: In spite of the handicaps, the management at Dante Place did achieve a liveable housing situation for tenants. This was accomplished by a series of measures to alleviate basic site deﬁciencies (supermarket operated in project, kindergarten and ﬁrst grade classes in project, direct bus service) and ﬁrm management practices in terms of eviction of chronic problem families, extensive housekeeping inspection and supervision.53 The BMHA also maintained that very few white tenants had moved out in response to the increased number of blacks in residence, implicitly arguing that race relations were not a signiﬁcant problem. But perhaps the most interesting characteristic of the document is the BMHA’s abdication of responsibility for its own decision. The authority essentially blamed the local press for creating, in the public’s mind, a picture which made the conversion of Dante Place to middle-income apartments inevitable: A crucial chapter was written into the history of Dante Place in the two-month period beginning on November 2 and ending on December 31, 1955. During this period, the whole picture of Dante Place became a subject for community discussion through local press coverage. . . . When the concentration of attention was over, the reputation of Dante Place in the community was permanently damaged. . . . [T]he damage had been done. Dante Place was viewed in the eyes

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of the community as a symbol of poor housekeeping and anti-social behavior. Unfortunately, this was also related in the public mind with the large proportion of Negro occupants.54 Shortly after the announcement of the BMHA’s plans, a tenant organization formed at Dante Place to ﬁght the proposed conversion. Calling itself the Dante Tenants Defense League, the group took its case to the ofﬁce of the state housing commissioner in New York City in January 1960. The group lobbied the BMHA and the common council, but nether would budge on the conversion issue. After the project had already received state approval, the council prepared to address the issue. Following two hearings which were designed to allow affected residents to speak, the common council voted, on June 14, 1960, in support of the conversion. The council vote was eleven to four, with both of the African American members and two white members voting in opposition. After the council vote, the Dante Tenants Defense League took their case to the courts. And in October 1960, New York State Supreme Court Judge Michael Catalano ruled that the conversion was neither in violation of the New York State Constitution nor of New York Public Housing Law, thus could be executed.55 As judges frequently do, Catalano afﬁrmed that it was not his role to comment on the wisdom of the conversion as a policy choice. Rather, it was his job to only rule on the legal merits of the conversion plan: “Unless the taxpayer shows illegality or fraud, the court will not pass judgment upon legislative policy or discretion.”56 At the same time, however, the court went to great lengths to comment on the changing nature of Buffalo—the movement of residents to the suburbs, the decline of downtown, and the need to revitalize the city, including the waterfront: Buffalo has undergone great changes in population. . . . In the last 30 years, Buffalo has failed to attract new residents; it has failed to grow apace its former record or other American cities. . . . It is said that Buffalonians are moving outside the city into suburban areas so that the metropolitan areas are still growing. In any event, they are leaving the city and it is reasonable to assume that inadequate housing is one of the substantial causes. . . . The downtown business area in Buffalo has felt this exodus. Large department stores and specialty shops are moving or closing; some

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Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power new ofﬁce buildings, the ﬁrst in some 25 or 30 years, are being built. Old buildings are being replaced by new. This is going on within several hundred feet of the project and conversion involved in this case. . . . This lakefront housing located at the new “crossroads,” created by the intersection of the New York State Thruway and the Hi-Level Bridge, may not become New York City’s Riverside Drive, but it has great potential per se as a model for private enterprise in the future (emphasis in original).57

The court’s decision was similar to the BMHA’s ofﬁcial justiﬁcation in reasoning, but went even further in its argument for the need to revive the waterfront. There can be little doubt that the conversion of Dante Place was a legal act. Its legality does not undermine its signiﬁcance as a housing decision on the part of the city, however. Many of the black residents evicted from Dante Place were relocated to the just opened Ellicott and Talbert Malls, while white residents were relocated, as had happened in other relocation efforts, to several different neighborhoods around the city. Dante Place was the only place anywhere in the city outside of the Ellicott and Masten districts where a measurable number of blacks had lived. So despite the fact that the apartments were public housing, they represented residential progress for the city’s black community. This type of residential progress had other tangible advantages in that Dante Place was located quite close to downtown and a variety of other sources of employment, thus reducing many of the obvious hardships of ﬁnding and getting to a job. Clearly the decision to convert the apartments was driven by both race and class considerations, but occupancy since the conversion points to the notion that race very well could have been the primary force at work. A New York State investigation into Marine Drive apartments found that occupancy in recent decades has, in fact, consistently been nearly all white.58 In any case, once Dante Place was converted to Marine Drive, the idea that the east side was the city’s black neighborhood only became reinforced, which substantially contributed to the drive for open housing that began a few years later. The entire episode revealed the many intimate connections among race, politics, housing, and, ultimately, opportunity itself. Just after the battle over Dante Place, the city continued the process of attempting to redevelop the Ellicott district. Numerous delays, created mainly by a stand-off between the mayor

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and council, however, meant that the cleared land sat vacant for years, which contributed to the emergence of a variety of other problems on the lower and central east side.

Delays in Ellicott Redevelopment Shortly after the beginning of the relocation of residents and the clearing of land for Ellicott redevelopment in 1958, a prospective developer was contacted in 1959, the Hamilton Company in New York City, regarding the construction of private housing in the Ellicott district redevelopment area. The corporation counsel ruled, however, that it was too early to begin negotiations with a developer, so the land was not formally advertised for sale until March 1961, when nearly all of the demolition and relocation were completed. Seventy-ﬁve acres were opened up for bidding, with the remaining eighty-ﬁve acres retained for community-related facilities. Apparently the early contact with Hamilton had been sufﬁcient, because the company ended up buying all but nine of the parcels of land in the redevelopment area at the minimum price. The board of redevelopment promptly received federal approval of the sale, and by June 1961, the common council unanimously approved it as well. It appeared as if the Ellicott project was proceeding smoothly. Two things happened over the next several months to prompt a series of problems with the project, however. First, the council reorganized the board of redevelopment into the newly created department of urban renewal. The new urban renewal department was headed by a commissioner appointed by the mayor, and the board of redevelopment became the urban renewal board. Under the new structure, the commissioner had the legal right to designate a developer, and the council could only approve or disapprove his choice. This differed from the former system in which the board of redevelopment ultimately exercised control over selection of a developer. The second event that prompted a series of early problems with the project was the split in the Democratic party which led to the election of Chester Kowal, a Republican mayor, in November 1961. Kowal’s election pitted the administration against the council in a conﬂict over the project that lasted several years, creating sustained delays. Once elected, Kowal appointed a new commissioner of urban renewal and pushed for a series of changes in the project.59 The

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urban renewal department, however, rejected Hamilton’s proposed changes, and made more demands which once again increased the cost of the housing, including complete brick construction and the abandonment of row houses in favor of detached dwellings. As the cost of construction, and therefore the price of the housing, continued to increase, the probability of FHA ﬁnancing decreased, which of course was of great concern to Hamilton. At this point, prospects for an agreement between Hamilton and the administration began to look bleak. The July 1, 1961, deadline for a commitment on FHA ﬁnancing passed, and shortly thereafter the corporation counsel ruled that the city’s contract with Hamilton was void for several reasons, among which was the fact that the new terms had not been approved by either the council or the federal government. The Greater Buffalo Development Foundation sought to create a compromise on the issue, by suggesting that Hamilton be given half of the land for development, and another company be given the other half. The terms of such an agreement were not acceptable to the parties involved, though. By early 1962, the search began for another developer for the 161 acres of land in the redevelopment area. The Kowal administration’s new choice of a developer was a ﬁrm called Urban Properties, based in Toronto, while the Democratic council allied itself with First Hartford Realty, a Connecticut ﬁrm. In early March 1963, Kowal’s urban renewal commissioner ofﬁcially recommended that Urban Properties be given the Ellicott job. Unhappy with this recommendation, the common council appointed a committee of local architects to evaluate all of the bids. The architects unanimously recommended Urban Properties, but the council voted to give First Hartford the contract, stating that it wanted construction to proceed immediately. This led to more conﬂict between the administration and the council. Shortly after the council’s recommendation of First Hartford, the corporation counsel ruled that the common council had no authority to initiate the designation of a developer. According to the ruling, the council could only approve or disapprove the recommendations of the urban renewal department. However, the council held to its designation of First Hartford. Over the next several months, the council repeatedly voted to give the contract to First Hartford, with Kowal vetoing the selection each time. Ellicott District Councilman Grifﬁn was the only Democrat who voted with the Republicans for Urban Properties. The local Democratic organization had supported incumbent Ellicott Councilman Trammell in

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the 1961 election, so presumably Grifﬁn felt little allegiance to his party organization. With a developer still not agreed upon, the mayor suggested a compromise. Kowal proposed that First Hartford be given the sales housing construction in the Ellicott project, with Urban Properties granted the contract for the construction of the rental housing. Seeing this compromise as strongly favoring the mayor, the council refused the deal. By this time, several groups representing the affected neighborhood, including the Urban League, began to publicly press for a settlement. The federal government also got involved in putting pressure on the city to select a developer. The U.S. Urban Renewal Administration gave the city until October 3, 1963, to ﬁnalize plans with a developer. But the deadline passed, and a developer was still not chosen. Finally, the urban renewal administration told city ofﬁcials that no further renewal projects would be considered for the Buffalo area until a developer was chosen for the Ellicott job. This ultimatum provided quite a bit of incentive since the city had four other major renewal projects in the planning stages. The federal government told the city it had until the end of 1963 to select a developer. At the last council session of the year, four Democratic members switched their votes to Urban Properties, which ﬁnalized the selection of a developer for the project. Only one of the four had been defeated in the November 1963 elections, so apparently the federal government’s ultimatum alone was sufﬁcient reason to switch votes. By the end of 1963, it looked as if the delays in the Ellicott district redevelopment project were ﬁnally coming to an end. It was not until November 1964, however—almost one full year later— that Urban Properties was granted federal mortgage insurance. And the company was granted insurance to build only 220 units, approximately one-ﬁfth the number originally planned. Construction on the units began in late 1964, the same year a staff member of the Buffalo Chamber of Commerce remarked that the huge amount of vacant land in the project “left a 29-block scar on the face of the city that could lead naive lightplane pilots to assume the city was constructing a landing strip for them next to its busiest retail area.”60 But just one year later, the city faced a different obstacle in its renewal program in the form of another ultimatum from the federal government. Up until 1965, laws involving city housing were not consolidated. They existed in a variety of city, county, and state laws, and thus were difﬁcult to understand and enforce. As a

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result, the city was informed by federal ofﬁcials that it would be cut off from federal renewal funds unless it adopted a uniform, comprehensive housing code. Acting under yet another federal ultimatum, the council responded relatively quickly by passing a comprehensive housing code in July 1965. But construction proceeded rather slowly, and the 220 apartments of what was now labeled phase I of the Ellicott project, Towne Gardens, were not ofﬁcially dedicated until July 1966, which only tightened the housing market for the increasing African American population.

Conclusion The population of Buffalo underwent signiﬁcant change from the early 1950s through the mid-1960s. Whites began to move to the suburbs in large numbers, and blacks continued to migrate to the city from southern states. Several policies adopted by local ofﬁcials had the effect of not only segregating African Americans, but also of substantially disrupting the black residential community. The location and size of Ellicott and Talbert Malls were a direct result of local ofﬁcials responding to the continued opposition of white neighborhoods to public housing. The city’s original agreement with New York State called for four projects in three totally separate sections of the city. As we have seen, however, neighborhood opposition led the city to alter its state housing program to call for three projects in only two areas, both of which were located on the east side. Consequently Ellicott and Talbert Malls ended up as large-scale projects just three blocks away from each other in the Ellicott district. The near complete segregation of the two developments, in conjunction with the fact that they were constructed immediately adjacent to a large tract of vacant land where redevelopment was failing to materialize, meant that from the time they opened, residents of the two apartment complexes faced a variety of obstacles stemming from the fact that they were living in a place where there was little neighborhood left or which to be a part. Further, during the 1950s and early 1960s, large numbers of African Americans were displaced on three separate occasions. First, in the mid-1950s, after the debate about the siting of state housing, residents were moved from their homes for the construction of Ellicott and Talbert Malls. The second large displacement of black residents occurred during the conversion of Dante Place. Lower income residents, most of whom were black, had to be evicted from

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the apartment complex when it was converted to middle-income apartments. Most blacks removed from Dante Place were moved back to the east side, into the newly opened Ellicott and Talbert Malls. Since it was located outside of the traditional black neighborhood, the conversion of Dante Place, while viewed by many in the city as necessary, was a setback in the residential progress of the black community. It had the effect of reinforcing the dominant living patterns which African Americans had showed signs of breaking down. And ﬁnally, the largest dislocation of residents by far occurred during the massive Ellicott redevelopment project, from late 1959 through 1961. The city moved almost all African Americans displaced by the project to either elsewhere in the Ellicott district or to the rapidly changing Masten district, while whites were scattered around the city, directly contributing to the further separation of the races, thus the increasing social isolation of the African American community. As residents and businesses were displaced by the Ellicott project and the white population continued its exodus, crime in many sections of the east side continued to be a problem. During the early 1960s, the police precincts located in the area of the Ellicott and Masten districts had among the highest crime rates in the city.61 More signiﬁcant than the crime rates in the area, though, was the rather shocking rate at which crime was increasing. In the areas where large numbers of residents were being relocated to, including precincts three and six, which were located west and north of the redevelopment area, the rate of crimes involving theft began to increase dramatically. From 1962 to 1963 for instance, just after Ellicott relocation had been completed, the rates of these types of crimes increased 49 percent and 64 percent in precincts three and six respectively.62 Clearly there were problems associated with relocation other than merely adjusting to a new home. With the city and regional population continuing to change rapidly, the federal government conducted a special census of Erie County in 1966,63 which revealed a number of things. First of all, total city population was decreasing rapidly, as the city lost roughly 51,000 residents between 1960 and 1966. Suburbs continued to develop in several surrounding locations, and the city’s population loss translated directly into suburban growth. The 1966 census also revealed that the east side was losing population very quickly. The lower and middle east side lost over twelve thousand residents between 1960 and 1966.64 The main reason for this aggregate popu-

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lation loss was simple: whites were leaving this section of the city at a much faster rate than the black population was increasing, which only exacerbated the rate of neighborhood change. Despite the fact the black population was expanding somewhat geographically, African American residential progress was still very much limited. Black residential movement went almost exclusively in a northerly direction. Almost no African Americans moved into the areas to the east of the Ellicott district during the early 1960s,65 and south Buffalo was also still a place where blacks were very much unwelcome.66 Further, Main Street remained an informal boundary for the African American community, as less than 3 percent of the entire black population lived in all of the twentysix census tracts located entirely west of Main Street combined.67 As blacks faced difﬁculty moving south, west, and east, they continued their migration directly north into the Masten district, making it a solid African American voting area by the mid-1960s. All of the decisions discussed in this chapter occurred with either minimal black representation in city government or none at all. And since the interests of the African American community were becoming increasingly synonymous with the interests of the lower and middle east side, the lack of black representation meant that much of this section of the city inevitably suffered a lack of representation also. The protracted conﬂict over Ellicott redevelopment occurred with one African American member on the ﬁfteenmember common council. The continued conﬂicts between the mayor and the council over redevelopment during the early 1960s vividly demonstrated that getting new housing built in the area demolished in the Ellicott district simply was not a priority for a sufﬁcient number of council members. One cannot imagine a similar conﬂict regarding the selection of a developer for the construction of a new stadium or ofﬁce building, for example, once the land had already been cleared. The failure to redevelop the Ellicott district was not so much a project initiated by elites to somehow alter the emerging ghetto. Rather, it reﬂected an ongoing public debate which painfully revealed the predispositions of a large number of white ofﬁceholders and the citizens who elected them. And as we have seen, there were divisions within the African American community on the issue of redevelopment. Given that a majority of blacks supported redevelopment, one cannot say that urban renewal was forced upon the African American population. However, the extremely slow pace of Ellicott redevelopment as well as the difﬁculty blacks continued to face when attempting to move

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into other areas of the city or suburbs made the original divisions within the black community substantially less important. As long as housing was not being built in the Ellicott district to replace the housing that was demolished, and as long as public and private housing segregation continued, the entire African American community suffered. Prior to redevelopment, despite advocating different approaches, the black community had been united in its quest for improved housing stock. Clearly a 161-acre section of land that remained almost entirely vacant for several years, however, was no improvement in housing. Aerial photographs of the redevelopment area during this period reveal the magnitude of the project, showing an area that looked as if it had been under enemy air attack. With the creation of the urban renewal agency in 1966, authority over redevelopment became even further decentralized. Since the land had already been cleared, responsibility for the Ellicott project rested largely with the mayor and council—and neither appeared interested in the housing situation of African Americans. The passage of the antiblockbusting ordinance, like the formation of the board of community relations nearly two decades earlier, brought some attention to the issue of race in Buffalo politics and daily life. In 1965, the human relations commission was institutionalized by charter amendment, and became responsible for overseeing the department of human relations,68 which brought further attention to the subject of racial discrimination. But neither the commission nor the antiblockbusting ordinance had the teeth to effectively combat discrimination. Moreover, other basic political gains for the black community, such as elected and appointed ofﬁces, proved to be somewhat of a mixed blessing in that fundamental issues affecting residential neighborhoods continued to divide along racial lines, with only small numbers of whites in favor of policies that large majorities of the black community supported. This dynamic was central to many of the debates in the years that followed, most of which continued to revolve around housing and eventually public education, both of which represented crucial components of access to the opportunity structure.

Marine Drive Apartments, 1999

Price Courts, 1999

Abandoned Building at Douglass Towers, 1999

Buffalo City Hall

Kenfield Apartments, 1999

Ellicott Town Center (formerly Ellicott Mall), 1999

6 Urban Unrest, Suburban Growth, and the Birth of the Contemporary Ghetto

Chapter 6 discusses the politics and development of Buffalo and western New York from the middle 1960s through the middle 1970s. This period marked several more political gains for the black community, but as the African American population continued to grow, the persistent inequalities between blacks and whites became increasingly apparent. Poverty was becoming concentrated in black neighborhoods on the east side, and in combination with substantially higher than average unemployment and crime rates, the poorest neighborhoods had become more isolated from the rest of the city. By the middle 1970s, the majority of political debate and conﬂict involved the public school system. Yet the underlying issues remained the same, all of which demonstrated the discrimination faced by African Americans, and pointed to the need to equalize the opportunity available to all Buffalonians.

The Growth of Civil Rights Organizations The late 1960s were turbulent years throughout the United States, and Buffalo was no exception. Whereas the factor of race had become a key component of the political dialogue three decades earlier with the introduction of public housing, the latter part of the 1960s began an era in which the tensions between race and residential neighborhoods came to dominate city government. The city faced continued difﬁculty in east side redevelopment, and school segregation became a subject of ongoing discussion. The unrest of 1967 pointed to many of the underlying inequalities between blacks and whites. With the numerous problems associated with Ellicott redevelopment, and with the persistent problems of unemployment and

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inadequate housing facing the black community, in the 1960s several new organizations were formed in an attempt to improve the lives of African Americans. In 1963, several individuals—both African American and white—formed the Citizens Council on Human Relations (CCHR). The CCHR’s goal was to improve intergroup relations, and the organization concentrated its attention on ﬁghting discrimination against blacks in areas such as employment, housing, and education. In 1965, a number of east side leaders began to consider the possibility of bringing Saul Alinsky to Buffalo to form a branch of his organization, the Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF). Alinsky is probably the most well known community organizer in modern American history. After originally creating the IAF in his home town of Chicago in the 1940s, Alinsky helped to establish branches of the organization in many cities around the country, including one in the nearby city of Rochester, New York, located just sixty miles east of Buffalo. Alinsky’s tactics were confrontational, and as a result, he provoked controversy wherever he went.1 The local African American community was somewhat divided on the question of whether to form a branch of the IAF in Buffalo, however, and debate on the subject continued throughout 1966. While there were many obvious problems facing African Americans, blacks had also achieved a number of gains, particularly in the political arena. Some black leaders were wary of the potential for an Alinsky organization to put those gains in jeopardy. Nevertheless, early in 1967, representatives from ninety-two different local organizations, including many ministers, formed an organization, with the assistance of the IAF, called BUILD, which stood for Build Unity, Independence, Liberty, and Dignity.2 Based on participatory democratic principles, BUILD began to work on the basic issues affecting the black community, and ultimately placed the majority of its efforts into the area of education. While there was still clearly a range of opinions within the black community on problems and approaches to various issues, the formation of BUILD indicated a minimum level of agreement on the need for African Americans unifying in organizational terms so as to speak with one stronger voice rather than a multitude of distinct ones.

The Impact of Major Development on Neighborhoods The 1950s and 1960s were also a period of many large construction projects in Buffalo and western New York, including the

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construction of a large university campus in the suburban town of Amherst, as well as the completion of a rather extensive expressway system throughout the city and suburbs. The highways connected the city to the newly built suburbs and to the New York State Thruway, and thus facilitated the continued migration of residents to suburban communities. SUNY Campus Construction Probably the most far-reaching development project in Erie County during the 1960s was the building of the new State University of New York (SUNY) campus. Buffalo has the largest of the SUNY campuses, the University at Buffalo (UB), but the university was not originally a state institution. It was absorbed into the burgeoning SUNY system in 1962, which clearly gave the state an upper hand when it came time to select a site for the new UB campus. By the early 1960s, it had become evident that the one UB campus, located at the northern edge of the city, simply could not accommodate the school’s increasing number of students and programs. Consequently, UB began discussing the idea of constructing a second campus. From the beginning of discussions, the idea was not only to move many of the existing programs to the new campus, but also to initiate the creation of several new academic and athletic programs, which meant that the new campus had to be substantially larger than the original one. The university was growing, and in the middle 1960s, university ofﬁcials were projecting that by 1975, there would be over forty thousand students at UB, thereby justifying the construction of a much larger new campus. Early in the discussion phase, the university’s trustees announced that ﬁve sites were being studied, three of which were in the suburbs, the other two in the city. Despite the fact that ﬁve sites were ofﬁcially under study, by 1965 it had become clear that only two of the sites were under serious consideration, one in the suburban town of Amherst, located northeast of the city, and the other a site south of downtown on the Lake Erie waterfront. Two years earlier, Governor Nelson Rockefeller had commissioned a local planner to study and recommend to the trustees a new site, and he recommended the waterfront site.3 The trustees apparently felt no obligation to heed this recommendation, however, and in June 1964 unanimously recommended the site in Amherst.

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During the period from 1965 through early 1967, a fair amount of debate took place regarding the site of the new campus, which prompted Governor Rockefeller to appoint the president of Rutgers University, Mason Gross, to act as a mediator of the debate. Many state and local groups, including BUILD and a newly formed coalition of campus and community groups called Committee for an Urban Campus (CURB), argued in favor of the waterfront site. Gross traveled to Buffalo in 1966, and met with two local residents who were advocates for the waterfront site, one of whom was a prominent African American architect. Despite the support of a wide variety of groups representing both racial and socioeconomic diversity, including numerous downtown business and political groups, banks, and both newspapers, the ﬁnal decision that was made in February 1967, as spelled out in a report issued by Gross, was that the new campus would be built in the suburban town of Amherst, on a large vacant tract of land roughly three miles from the northeastern edge of the city.4 Throughout the 1960s, New York had been constructing new SUNY campuses in suburban and rural locations across the state, and the new Buffalo campus proved to be no exception to this trend. The location of the new UB campus made it extremely difﬁcult for many lower-income urban residents to take advantage of the largest public university campus in all of upstate New York, either in the form of attending classes or accessing the numerous employment opportunities that the new campus provided. By 1995, UB had become the sixth largest employer in western New York, with a substantial majority of its employees working at the Amherst campus.5 The construction of the UB suburban campus constituted a huge blow to the city, and became an immediate symbol of the growing gap between the city and suburbs. A public university, which is supposed to be one of the main symbols of opportunity in American society, instead became the symbol of the growth of the middle-class suburbs and the continued decline of the central city. Expressway Construction Another major project that changed the face of the city and region was the construction of an elaborate expressway system in Buffalo and Erie County during the 1950s and 1960s. The expressways were designed to connect the city with the suburbs, and provide a link to the New York State Thruway which had been completed in the late 1950s. Rather than creating a demand for

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suburban housing from scratch, the new expressways simply reinforced an existing pattern of residential development, thus became yet another reason to move to the developing suburbs. Because of the topography of the region, the options for the possible locations of the expressways were limited. The city’s western edge borders Lake Erie and the Niagara River, to the west of which lies the province of Ontario in Canada. This meant that suburbs could not develop to the west of the city, but only to the north, south, and east, which signiﬁcantly shaped the location of expressways. Further, because of downtown Buffalo’s location in the southwestern corner of the city, it was clear that an expressway would have to run northeast of downtown in order to connect the central business district with outlying areas. Construction of the city’s internal expressway system began in the 1950s. The Scajaquada Expressway (198) was begun in 1950 with the construction of the highway’s underpass at Main Street, which required the elimination of the old Humboldt Parkway. Construction of the Scajaquada continued throughout the 1950s and early 1960s. The highway cut through Delaware Park and neighborhoods of the middle and upper sections of the west side. The Kensington Expressway (33), came later, with construction beginning at the end of 1960 and being completed in 1968.6 The Kensington runs from immediately north of the central business district in a northeastern direction through the east side to the eastern edge of the city and beyond. The Kensington cut right through the middle section of the east side at a time when the neighborhood was already undergoing signiﬁcant disruption. The prolonged construction period of the highway (it was under construction throughout the 1960s) was another contributor to neighborhood upheaval. While many white neighborhoods around the city were also disrupted by highway construction during this period, for several reasons, the disruption of the east side was different, and fundamentally more far-reaching. First, a sizeable section of the lower east side had already been demolished for redevelopment, most of which remained vacant throughout the 1960s. With the construction of the Kensington only three blocks to the north of the redevelopment area, the larger neighborhood experienced yet another major physical blow. Another factor that must be taken into account when assessing the effects of highway construction through residential neighborhoods is the continued differences in black and white residential mobility. The city lost just under seventy thousand total residents

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during the 1960s, while gaining almost twenty-four thousand African Americans. It is reasonable to conclude that highway construction provided another reason for the continued white exodus. That is, it seems likely that at least some white residents moved to the suburbs because highways were being constructed in their neighborhoods.7 In other words, building an expressway like the Kensington through an African American neighborhood when blacks had an exceptionally difﬁcult time moving into either other city neighborhoods or to the suburbs made the effects of the highway’s location more signiﬁcant. Whites who lived in several working and middle-class west side neighborhoods affected by the Scajaquada had many more residential choices, including the suburbs, many of which contained thousands of homes that individuals with modest incomes could afford. Another reason the Kensington was signiﬁcant was because of its architecture. A good portion of the highway is set well below ground level and at a measurable distance from the neighborhoods in which it is located. This type of design makes it very difﬁcult to have any sense of the surrounding neighborhood while traveling on the highway. Prior to the construction of the Kensington, the most likely methods of traveling between downtown and the eastern section of the city and suburban areas were the main east/west streets through the east side, such as William, Broadway, or Genessee. The construction of the Kensington, however, made these routes essentially obsolete for this ﬂow of trafﬁc. It therefore was the ﬁrst major step in creating a situation whereby local residents could effectively avoid ever going into large sections of the east side. Buffalo historian Mark Goldman has elaborated on the distinct differences between traveling through the east side on the Kensington as opposed to taking one of the city streets though the same neighborhoods: When the Kensington Expressway was closed down temporarily for repairs during the summer of 1989, the quickest, most direct route from the airport to downtown was via Genessee Street. For those whose view of the inner city is blurred, seen only from the windows of cars moving fast along the Expressway, the Genessee Street route is an eye opener. It begins in Cheektowaga, a suburb to Buffalo’s east. . . . The streetscape changes suddenly and dramatically at the intersection of Genesee and Bailey and while the

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street names—Zenner, Kilhoffer, and Moselle reveal the neighborhood’s past—the streets themselves vividly display the present. It is the landscape of the urban ghetto.8 Certainly the construction of the Kensington had signiﬁcant effects on the public’s knowledge of and attitudes about the many changes that were going on in the east side’s lower income areas. The lack of much sustained opposition to highway construction in Buffalo was fairly typical of what happened in many cities. Although there was some successful opposition to expressway construction in American cities during the 1950s and 1960s, the nation’s new highway system was generally viewed as an example of progress, even by many neighborhoods that were directly affected,9 primarily because of American society’s nearly complete dependence upon automobiles. Related to this conception of progress was the notion of inevitability that accompanied expressway construction, which contrasted with other types of development, such as public housing. Although when it was ﬁrst introduced, public housing was viewed by many as progress, it was also frequently opposed by economic conservatives who saw it as an unnecessary interference with market mechanisms. In addition, there were obvious physical differences between public housing developments and highways: developments were ﬁnite, clearly deﬁned objects that, by deﬁnition, had to be built in certain neighborhoods. As we have clearly seen, with enough opposition, neighborhoods could successfully keep public housing out. On the other hand, highways went on for miles, and creating enough opposition to reroute one seemed to be a monumental task. Another reason for the lack of sustained opposition to expressway construction in Buffalo was the fact that the new expressways were built through many of the city’s neighborhoods, so the argument that one or two speciﬁc places were being singled out for construction was just not accurate. But the fact that many neighborhoods around the city were affected by expressway construction does not change the differential impact that the new expressways had on various neighborhoods. The expressway system substantially contributed to the growing spatial isolation of much of the east side, and allowed local and regional residents to completely avoid this section of the city. Like cities around the country, the construction of expressways in Buffalo and Erie County allowed local and regional residents to begin to form opinions about a place—the emerging ghetto—without ever actually entering into that place to see it for themselves.

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Urban Unrest Social unrest occurred in a few of the nation’s cities in the early 1960s, but by the summer of 1967, rioting had broken out in urban areas throughout the nation. That summer, rioting occurred on Buffalo’s east side and, though to a much lesser extent, west side. The events of the summer of 1967 prompted President Johnson to appoint the Kerner Commission to investigate the reasons for the unrest and develop possible prescriptions to address the conditions that had contributed to the rioting. The commission’s report, released on March 1, 1968, was a rather detailed study of disturbances in 164 American cities.10 The report classiﬁed the riots into three categories of severity—major, serious, and minor. Buffalo was classiﬁed as one of eight major disorders, along with Cincinnati, Detroit, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Newark, Plainﬁeld (NJ), and Tampa.11 The report’s ﬁndings, similar to the research on the Buffalo riot, pointed to several underlying causes of unrest, all of which indicated that the violence and mob behavior in the nation’s ghettos were neither random, nor without motivation. In sum, the Kerner Report revealed a growing division between the urban ghettos and the rest of society, a division which was vividly captured in its most famous quotation: “This is our basic conclusion: Our Nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white—separate and unequal.”12 Rioting in Buffalo From early May through early July 1967, rioting occurred in several different sections of Buffalo’s east side, as well as in sections of the west side.13 To place the unrest that occurred in Buffalo in the appropriate context, one has to look at what was happening in African American neighborhoods, and elsewhere around the city. In the period of time leading up to the 1967 unrest, there were further signs of political advancement for the African American community. Nineteen sixty-five marked the second time that Frank Sedita was elected mayor. Sedita had previously been mayor from 1958 to 1961, and was more popular with the black community than any previous mayor. His administration hired more African Americans for city jobs, including a sociology professor from Canisius College, Jesse Nash, to head the local Model Cities Agency.14 In return, blacks generally supported Sedita. In addition, three African Americans were elected to the council in 1965, one of whom

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was the ﬁrst black elected to a citywide ofﬁce. African Americans had also gradually begun to receive more board appointments. Unlike the period of the early 1960s, during which a protracted stand-off between a Republican mayor and a Democratic council (consisting of fourteen whites and one African American), the results of the 1965 elections were clearly a step in the right direction for the African American community. But in absolute terms, as the black population grew, the disparities between whites and African Americans became more evident. Despite the fact that it had grown substantially since World War II, the African American population was still quite restricted in terms of residential options. The lack of progress on the Ellicott redevelopment project, in conjunction with the discrimination that blacks faced when trying to move out of the lower and middle east side, as well as the poor condition of much of the housing in the east side’s black neighborhoods, much of which was still owned by absentee landlords, all contributed to a variety of problems facing the African American community. In addition to the problems associated with housing was the ever-present problem of the employment discrimination faced by blacks, the effects of which became more severe with the loss of industry and manufacturing employment. With the announcement in 1967 that the new SUNY campus was going to be built in the suburb of Amherst, it seemed as if each loss that the city endured translated directly into a victory for the suburbs. And in the city primaries of June 1967, three outspoken critics of desegregation won nominations for council seats, illustrating the growing opposition to desegregated schools. So while there were advances for African Americans during the middle 1960s, blacks still faced a number of obstacles which became more apparent as the African American population continued to grow. The unrest in Buffalo began early in May 1967, on the east side, and ended after a few days of relatively minor disturbances. There was a general consensus among those in the neighborhood, however, that the rioting was far from over, and could begin again when school let out in June,15 which is precisely what happened. Between June 26 and June 30, 1967, unrest plagued several sections of the lower and middle east side, and although not reported in the local media, there were disturbances on the west side as well.16 Local and state ofﬁcials responded immediately to the rioting. At a gathering organized by several east side groups, Mayor Sedita met with 150 youth at the Michigan Avenue YMCA on June 29. He

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was presented with a list of grievances, which fell into four major categories—employment, housing, education, and recreation.17 With regard to the issue of employment, Sedita afﬁrmed that he would immediately present the Chamber of Commerce with the complaints expressed to him regarding the lack of employment opportunities for African Americans, especially youth, on the east side.18 There was a substantial amount of evidence supporting the claim that African Americans were victims of chronic employment discrimination.19 After hearing complaints about employment discrimination from many involved in the disturbances, the major industries, the Chamber of Commerce, and the city issued a collective promise that three thousand jobs would be available to the black community within one week.20 While the offer of increased employment was, in many respects, good news, the response of the black community to the promise of three thousand jobs was mixed since prior to the disturbances, African Americans were repeatedly told by both industry and city ofﬁcials that there were simply no jobs available.21 Promising more employment, then, at least partially had the effect of reinforcing blacks’ distrust of the white establishment because the offer itself indicated that there were, or perhaps could be, substantially more employment opportunities for African Americans than the white leadership had previously indicated. Despite the promises that were made, however, only about four hundred additional jobs became available to the black community, not enough to make much of a dent in the continued problem of unemployment facing many ghetto residents.22 Neither the political gains of African Americans nor the underlying inequalities that the unrest illustrated seemed to have much of an impact on the continued economic discrimination faced by the African American population. In the aftermath of the 1967 riots in Buffalo and around the country, the recommendations issued by the Kerner Commission included numerous reform proposals in the areas of employment, education, housing, and welfare. Signiﬁcantly, the commission’s report effectively blamed white racism for the problems in the nation’s ghetto neighborhoods. Regarding the nature of the commission’s ﬁndings and recommendations, sociologist Stephen Steinberg has written: Whatever its shortcomings, the Kerner report represented a remarkable historical development. At a time when the peaceful tactics of the civil rights movement had given way

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to violent protest on the part of ghetto youth, a presidential commission had placed the ultimate blame for racial conﬂict on the doorstep of white America.23 Of the several different types of discrimination faced by blacks in Buffalo, two stood out as being areas in which the local government could make a difference—education and housing. During the latter part of the 1960s, the battle over the public school system had already begun, and housing discrimination gained increased attention by civil rights advocates. Speciﬁcally, with the unrest contributing to the continued exodus of whites,24 but with African Americans still conﬁned to the lower and middle east side, the subject of fair housing became a prominent issue in local politics.

The First Attempt at Fair Housing Background: New York’s Law Against Discrimination By 1960, discrimination in housing had become an issue for debate in the New York State legislature. The state had outlawed discrimination in public housing ﬁve years earlier, but as cities began to lose population to the suburbs and black urban populations continued to grow, the issue of pervasive discrimination in the private housing market became more evident. At the time, there was no federal or state law which constituted a comprehensive prohibition against discrimination in the private housing market,25 a fact which supporters of antidiscrimination measures used to strengthen their position. So in April 1961, New York State passed the Law Against Discrimination, or what was commonly known as the Metcalf/Baker Law, named after its sponsors in the assembly and senate.26 New York was the ﬁrst state to pass such a law, a fact which Governor Rockefeller was quite proud of: This bill is another landmark in New York’s outstanding and pioneering history of state action against discrimination based upon race, color, creed or national origin. . . . As such it ﬁrmly establishes a principle marking a further step toward the goal of assuring that every person in this State may live or work where his heart desires and his means or abilities permit, a further contribution to the state’s

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The new housing law, including its 1963 amendments,28 began to address the issue of discrimination in the private housing market. It was an important piece of civil rights legislation. Its passage showed that New York was taking legislative action aimed at addressing private housing discrimination not only before any other state, but, more importantly, before the federal government itself.29 The new antidiscrimination law also created the New York Committee Against Discrimination for administration purposes, which gave it increased credibility. The Metcalf/Baker law made it illegal for owners and real estate brokers to discriminate because of race, color, creed, or national origin in the selling or renting of both private multiple dwellings and all commercial space. It also prohibited discrimination on the part of lending institutions when engaging in the ﬁnancing or sale or repair of residential or commercial property. While the law covered a substantial amount of residential property and all commercial property, its exemptions were very clear: all owner-occupied housing with one or two units did not fall under its purview. Its coverage, therefore, would reach most or all of the housing in high population density areas, such as in parts of New York City, for example, where multiple-unit buildings are quite common. In Buffalo, however, there are very few large apartment buildings. Indeed, many outside observers are struck by the abundance of two-family homes located in every neighborhood throughout the city. Because of the law’s exemptions, fair housing advocates began to mobilize in Buffalo. According to the 1960 census, 42 percent of all of the residential dwellings in the city were owner-occupied, the vast majority of which were one- and two-family homes, and therefore were not covered by the new state law. But this estimate does not provide us with an entirely accurate picture of the effects of legal residential discrimination in the city, and thus the lack of effectiveness of the state law. While over 40 percent of all housing units were owner-occupied, when one considers the location of one- and two-family homes, as opposed to the location of multiple-unit dwellings, some important observations come to mind. First, multiple-unit dwellings tend to be located on several major streets, thus are not evenly geographically distributed, whereas one- and two-family homes are the dominant

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architectural style on many of the city’s lesser traveled, neighborhood streets. So while over 40 percent of all of the city’s housing units were exempt from the state law, the actual percentage of geographic residential area not covered by the law was much higher, probably in the range of 60 percent.30 Thus the exemptions from the state law meant that blacks or other ethnic groups could still be legally kept out of a majority of the city. And, as discussed above, the special census of 1966 clearly showed that this was exactly what was happening, as African Americans were still residentially conﬁned to the lower and middle east side. In addition, the problem was not just related to access to rental units in owner-occupied housing. One- and two-family homeowners could also legally discriminate when selling their homes independently. Since the migration from the city to the suburbs was well underway by the 1960s, the problem of discrimination in the sale of housing also became an issue that fair housing supporters discussed when arguing in favor of a more comprehensive antidiscrimination law. Given the exemptions of the state law as well as the lack of federal fair housing legislation, many groups began a drive for fair housing in Buffalo in 1967. This led Masten district councilman Horace Johnson to introduce a resolution in late November directing the law department to draw up a comprehensive antidiscrimination ordinance. After the council voted to table Johnson’s resolution, fair housing proponents stepped up their campaign. Late in 1967, CCHR and BUILD—who collectively represented dozens of groups, both black and white—criticized the council’s action, and began to urge for passage of a more effective fair housing ordinance. Supporters stressed not only the problem of pervasive housing discrimination, but also Mayor Sedita’s promise, as expressed in the city’s original Model Cities application, to initiate the adoption of a comprehensive fair housing ordinance. Shortly thereafter, early in 1968, several other groups began to pressure the council for legislative action on the housing issue, including student groups, the League of Women Voters, and both Christian and Jewish clergy and organizations.31 While support for such an ordinance was not massive, it did cut across racial and ethnic lines, which cast the issue in a different light than many of the housing conﬂicts of previous decades. The ﬁght for fair housing continued into 1968, and heated up in May. After sustained pressure, in late May the council agreed to send two fair housing resolutions to the corporation counsel’s ofﬁce

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for consideration. In June, in a move that illustrated the Sedita administration’s support for a fair housing ordinance, Corporation Counsel Anthony Manguso ruled that it was, in fact, within the power of the council to enact a comprehensive fair housing ordinance which would cover the sale and rental of all housing units in the city. Manguso argued that the Supreme Court’s decision in Jones v. Mayer,32 handed down just days before, in which the Court interpreted the original 1866 Civil Rights Act, provided legal authority for the council to enact a comprehensive local fair housing ordinance. Acting with the support of the corporation counsel, Councilman Johnson’s resolution calling for the creation of a fair housing ordinance came before the common council again in July and was defeated by a vote of nine to six. All three African Americans on the council supported the resolution, two representing the Ellicott and Masten districts (one of whom was Johnson himself), with the third being at-large member Delmar Mitchell. The remaining support for the ordinance came from three white at-large members, one of whom was a Republican. There were no white members representing districts who supported the fair housing resolution. White neighborhood opposition was simply too strong. With chances for passage extremely slim but the open housing resolution still not ofﬁcially dead, a motion to send Johnson’s resolution to the council’s legislation committee two weeks later was also defeated, a move which killed the proposal. With the resolution dead, but the debate over housing discrimination far from over, later in 1968 eight council members, in what apparently was an effort to send a message of tolerance, urged the people of the city to comply with Title VIII of the 1968 Civil Rights Act and the Supreme Court’s decision in Jones v. Mayer.33 The argument in favor of the fair housing proposal was straightforward: blacks were being discriminated against when trying to rent or buy property in neighborhoods outside the lower and middle east side. The proposed ordinance was one way to combat the residential segregation of the black community, and ultimately contribute to an environment in which other types of discrimination, it was hoped, would also be reduced, particularly in the area of employment. The two arguments that opponents cited most frequently against the measure were that it was unnecessary, or redundant, in light of the Supreme Court’s decision in Jones v. Mayer, and that such an ordinance would hasten white ﬂight to the suburbs. In light of the lack of difﬁculty of enforcing Supreme Court decisions, the former of these arguments is not very persuasive.

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And the latter of these two reasons is legally irrelevant, does not address the issue of housing discrimination, and only accepts the lack of desire on the part of many whites to live among African Americans as static and inevitable. The defeat of the resolution was major local news, as it was a front-page headline in one of the two daily newspapers.34 The extensive publicity that the housing resolution received before the council considered the bill speaks to its signiﬁcance as a political issue. In the weeks and months leading up the council’s consideration of the measure, local newspapers ran numerous stories on the issue, essentially providing a narrative of both sides of the debate. The amount of attention to the fair housing resolution illustrates that there was a clear perception among both supporters and opponents that there could be signiﬁcant changes in the city’s neighborhoods if a comprehensive fair housing ordinance was adopted. Opposition was quite strong, and driven by racial fear. Sociologist Jill Quadagno has accurately conveyed the dynamics of the fair housing movement in the United States in the late 1960s: “No social issue was more volatile, nor likely to incite racial conﬂict, than fair housing. The battle over enforcement of fair housing only revealed how deeply embedded resistance to it was.”35 Title VIII of the Civil Rights Act passed in 1968 in the midst of the debate about the fair housing ordinance. While the new national law appeared to be a major step toward the reduction of housing discrimination, its exemptions were similar to the New York State antidiscrimination law—owner-occupied one- and twofamily houses did not fall under its coverage.36 So while the council had defeated Johnson’s fair housing resolution, given the exemptions of existing law and the continued segregation of neighborhoods, it was apparent that the issue of fair housing was not going to disappear any time soon. Fair housing was, after all, at the heart of equal opportunity, inextricably linked with other fundamental aspects of life, such as education and economic advancement, which housing advocates knew quite well, and were not going to let the public forget.

Race and Elections of the Late 1960s The Sedita administration was generally viewed favorably by the black community, especially in comparison to any previous administration. Mayor Sedita had shown what seemed to be a

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genuine interest in hearing the grievances of African Americans during the unrest of the summer of 1967, and had earned a respectable reputation with many blacks as a result. In fact, Sedita was popular with most of the city’s ethnic groups, which placed him in a good position for his bid for reelection in 1969. The mayoral election of 1969 pitted the incumbent Sedita against Republican candidate Alfreda Slominski, and an African American candidate, Ambrose Lane, running on the United Independence party ticket. Despite the ongoing signiﬁcance of race within local government, two facts diminished the chances of Lane’s candidacy. The most obvious deterrent to Lane’s success was his party afﬁliation. Not many were familiar with the United Independence party. Since the early 1950s, blacks had gradually become a solid component of local Democratic politics. As the black population continued to grow, there was reason to believe that the inﬂuence of blacks within the Democratic party would only increase in the future. Throughout the 1960s, African Americans had gradually increased their share of city, county, and state ofﬁces with Democratic party backing. Black mayors had been elected in Cleveland and Gary, Indiana, in 1967, and although African Americans would not constitute an electoral majority any time in the near future in Buffalo, it was still only a matter of time before a Democratic mayoral candidate would emerge from within the black leadership community, thus diminishing the signiﬁcance of Lane’s candidacy. Slominski was a former member of the board of education, and at the time of her 1969 mayoral bid was a council member atlarge. She had been appointed to the school board by Republican Mayor Chester Kowal. Rather than reappointing her when her term was up in 1967, Sedita replaced Slominski with an appointee of his own choosing. Slominski was an outspoken opponent of the fair housing ordinance, and later became one of, if not the most strident, critics of busing to achieve desegregated schools. She was a Republican, but was not on the best of terms with the Erie County Republican organization, which had more in common with the moderate Republicanism of Governor Nelson Rockefeller. Her uneasy relationship with the Republican organization did not seem to matter very much, however, as she won the 1969 mayoral primary without its support. In the months leading up to the 1969 election, Sedita received the public support of a variety of groups, and several national Democratic candidates came to Buffalo to campaign on his behalf, including former Vice President Hubert Humphrey. Contrasted to

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this was the lack of support that Slominski received. Governor Rockefeller endorsed her, but did not travel to Buffalo to campaign for her, thereby placing some distance between the state Republican organization and her candidacy. Despite failing to get much support from her own party, or from very many inﬂuential groups, Slominski still enjoyed backing from many white neighborhoods. She made education a primary issue in her campaign, accused Sedita of failing in this area, and consistently argued against busing as a method of desegregating the school system. As historian Jon Teaford has pointed out, Slominski was very similar to another female mayoral candidate of the same time period, Louise Day Hicks of Boston: “What ultimately aroused the Boston and Buffalo candidates most were not the rioting and crime in the streets but the plans for busing white children to black neighborhoods to achieve racial balance in the schools.”37 Though relying on a message less dependent on law and order themes than many white backlash candidates in other cities, Slominski was still perceived by many as a negative candidate who played on people’s fears, which contrasted with Sedita’s generally favorable reputation. As expected, Sedita won the election by receiving 54 percent of the total vote, with Slominski receiving just under 42 percent, and Lane receiving the remaining 5 percent. Of the city’s twentyseven wards, Slominski won eight, most of which were located in the eastern section of the city in the Lovejoy and Fillmore districts, both areas with high concentrations of Polish Americans. Sedita won the remaining nineteen wards, most with a comfortable margin. Lane failed to win any wards, but did manage to get 26 percent of the vote total in Ward 13 in the Masten district, a fairly impressive feat for a virtual unknown. Although Sedita’s reelection victory in 1969 over a very conservative candidate was a positive step for a city that was in the midst of a period of a major transition, it should not be interpreted as a sign of the decreasing signiﬁcance of race in local politics. While Slominski’s outspoken views on a number of issues related to race certainly hurt her chances, it is undeniable that her gender hurt her as well. Buffalo is a predominantly Catholic city with a solid tradition of social conservatism.38 In 1969, very few women had successfully ventured into local electoral politics. In fact, Slominski was only the second woman to ever be elected to the common council. In light of the opposition of many neighborhoods to the fair housing resolution, and the continuing controversy over the segregation of schools, there can be little doubt that if a well

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known male conservative candidate had emerged, espousing identical views as those expressed by Slominski, the 1969 mayoral election may very well have turned out differently. Slominski received a respectable number of votes in large part by tapping into the sentiment that things were changing too fast, a feeling that would, just eight years later, play a signiﬁcant role in allowing James Grifﬁn to come to power. To his credit, Sedita reached out to the black community, and thus in some respects, there was a real sense that his reelection was beneﬁcial to the political climate of the city. Ultimately, however, Sedita’s victory over Slominski was more an example of effective conﬂict management on the part of a skilled politician than a major step toward racial equality.

More Delays in Ellicott Redevelopment When the ﬁrst phase of the redevelopment project in the Ellicott district was ﬁnally completed in 1966 after years of delay, there were some signs that the remainder of the project would proceed more smoothly. With the election of Frank Sedita in 1965 and his reelection in 1969, the city had both a Democratic mayor and council that professed very similar views on the project. But over the next few years, several issues emerged which resulted in more delays, prolonging the construction of new housing in the redevelopment area until many years later, and caused more difﬁculty for many African Americans in the housing market. The Issue of Labor on the Ellicott Job Early in 1967, the contractor for the Ellicott job, Urban Properties, notiﬁed the city that it could not obtain temporary funds for the second phase of the project. This prompted city ofﬁcials to begin talks with the federal government about the possibility of changing contractors. To spur the project on, in March the council began to discuss tax abatements for phase II, an idea that was originally opposed by some Republican members. On June 20, 1967, just days before the unrest on the east side, the council agreed to grant abatements on the remainder of the project. This action provided incentive for Urban Properties to reach yet another agreement with the city, this time emphasizing its intention to ﬁnish the second phase of the Ellicott project, which called for 360 more

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residential units and a commercial plaza. Urban Properties also stressed its ﬁrm intention to obtain a local general contractor for the Ellicott job, presumably in an attempt to have phase II proceed more quickly. Before beginning the next stage of construction, however, Urban wanted to clarify the question of the labor pool that would be employed on the Ellicott job. The main criticism that had been expressed by a number of groups about the ﬁrst part of the project was its delay. Neighborhood residents justiﬁably felt that the council and mayor were engaging in a partisan standoff at the expense of their neighborhood. But another complaint that was expressed about the ﬁrst part of the project was the labor pool used. Speciﬁcally, many neighborhood residents and groups objected to the fact that there were very few, and in some instances no, African American laborers working on the construction of new housing in the Ellicott district. Consequently the city and the contractor came under growing pressure to ensure that blacks would be employed in sufﬁcient numbers. The problem, however, was that there were not many African American construction union members in the Buffalo area in 1967. As discussed earlier, 1967 was the year that the federal government ﬁled a civil rights suit against Bethlehem Steel and unions who employed workers there. Delays in the Ellicott redevelopment job also brought attention to the issue of employment discrimination among unions. Although the city and Urban Properties had reached an agreement on phase II of the project by the end of June, the unanswered question of the labor supply for the job created continued delays throughout the rest of 1967. Delays also meant that the ﬁnal application for the second phase had still not been approved by the necessary federal authorities. With the question of labor still unresolved, in October the Ellicott Community Redevelopment Foundation (ECRF)—the local nonproﬁt sponsor of the project—suggested that 20 percent of the union members used for the job be African American, which, if agreed to by the parties involved, would mean that unions would have to begin to admit many more blacks to their ranks. Local unions, however, were hesitant to go along with the idea of a 20 percent black labor force. By November 1967, though, a hiring policy was agreed upon by all of the parties involved, including local unions, Urban Properties, and the ECRF. But the hiring policy was not very speciﬁc. It did not establish exact percentages of African Americans to be admitted to unions, or to be eventually employed on the Ellicott

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job. By this point, there was growing pressure from several sources, including numerous editorials from the Evening News, to get the project going again. This pressure prompted the parties to at least agree on a statement of principles, which allowed construction to resume. The terms of phase II of the project were different than the ﬁrst phase in two respects. First, Urban Properties and the ECRF agreed that if the local contractor chosen failed to meet the stated objectives of employing blacks, either party could terminate the contract. There were existing federal fair employment regulations that had to be adhered to in the project, but they were not considered sufﬁcient, a fact which prompted the issue of the labor supply to be discussed in the ﬁrst place. Another difference was that the ECRF had more authority than it had during the ﬁrst phase of construction, primarily because the federal mortgage was in the foundation’s name. From late December 1967, into the ﬁrst several months of 1968, Urban Properties attempted to generate interest from Buffalo area contractors in the Ellicott job. Urban was headquartered in Pittsburgh, and since the completion of the ﬁrst part of the project, had repeatedly stressed its intention to contract with Buffalo area ﬁrms for phase II. The ECRF also thought that obtaining a local contractor was a top priority, which was a point of agreement which strengthened the relationship between the two principles. But after several months of looking, Urban Properties could interest no local ﬁrms in the Ellicott job. Presumably race was the sticking point—the agreement to the principle of hiring increased numbers of blacks was more than likely a deterrent for Buffalo area ﬁrms. After unsuccessfully attracting local interest in the job, Urban Properties did get interest from Burnet Construction, a New York City-based, black-owned company. Despite the fact that it was not a local ﬁrm, Burnet was received favorably by the ECRF and other neighborhood groups. The ﬁrm had a large number of African American foremen and managers, and was more than willing to abide by the agreement of hiring blacks for the job. Shortly after the announcement that Urban had contacted a contractor, the federal government approved the ﬁnal application for phase II, and it appeared as if things were progressing again. There were other signs of progress on redevelopment in the area as well. Because of the large amount of vacant land within the renewal area, other proposals were issued by local nonproﬁts regarding the construc-

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tion of new housing, some of which received the immediate attention of both local and federal ofﬁcials. By August 1968, leases had been signed for four of the commercial spaces in the plaza in the renewal area, including a large grocery store and a bank. Further, under a provision of the National Housing Act of 1966, the city was set to receive more federal aid for the Ellicott job because of its designation as a high unemployment area. After another delay in October resulting from a question of whether the speciﬁcs of the housing plans were in compliance with the city code, by the end of 1968 the execution of phase II of Ellicott district redevelopment was underway. On December 10, 1968, with the temperature hovering around eighteen degrees, a ground breaking ceremony for the second part of the project took place, with the mayor, several council members, and representatives from all of the various groups involved in attendance. While illustrating some progress on the long overdue project, the ground breaking contained an almost eerie sense of irony—the temperature was so cold that the gold-tinted shovels literally could not break the frozen ground, and a nearby bulldozer had to be called in to do the job.39 During the ﬁrst several weeks of 1969, Burnet began the process of subcontracting parts of the Ellicott job to local ﬁrms. The company had the same problem that Urban experienced when trying to interest Buffalo area general contractors in the job—resistance from local ﬁrms with regard to employing sufﬁcient numbers of blacks. Finally, Burnet was able to obtain interest from one local ﬁrm, and consequently subcontracted ﬁve parts of the Ellicott job to the Biline Construction Company. The project began to take shape, with crews working throughout the spring and summer months of 1969, and Burnet insisted that phase II would be completed by the end of 1970. But work slowed again during late 1969, and local groups involved, including the ECRF, complained that Burnet was not forthcoming about the job’s progress. By February 1970, with the job only one-ﬁfth done, work had again slowed considerably. It was not exactly clear why the job was not progressing, and the fact that Burnet was headquartered in New York City, which is roughly a seven to eight hour drive from Buffalo, made the lines of communication that much more difﬁcult. The work stoppage prompted the federal government to request an updated schedule of phase II detailing when the project would be completed, in response to which Burnet once again insisted that the job would be completed by the end of 1970.

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At the same time, other housing was gradually being built outside of the renewal area under other federal programs. For example, a development called Emslie Gardens, located just outside the redevelopment area, was under construction during the early months of 1970. These small modular homes were constructed under an FHA program which allowed for forty-year mortgages and very low down payments. Later in 1970, the New York State Urban Development Corporation (UDC) began construction on 180 town houses within the redevelopment area. The Ellicott Neighborhood Advisory Council (ENAC)—yet another neighborhood group that emerged to address the issue of housing—was the nonproﬁt sponsor of the UDC housing. Late in 1971, with Burnet continuing to work on phase II of the original project, and the UDC project moving forward, it appeared as if the housing situation in the Ellicott district was improving. Nineteen seventy-two marked the completion of phase II of the original project, which included 360 housing units in addition to the commercial plaza located at the corner of William and Jefferson. Despite being about ten years late, only 50 percent of the total number of units had been completed. One year later, the UDC housing, consisting of 180 town houses, was completed, and many of the units were occupied. That project, Ellicott Town Homes, was also located within the renewal area. There was still a fair amount of vacant land within the renewal area, however. And the difﬁculties experienced by Urban Properties and Burnet led both ﬁrms to completely withdraw from any further work in the Ellicott project. In light of this, the city facilitated the transfer of the options on all of the remaining Ellicott land from Urban Properties to the newly formed Niagara Frontier Housing and Development Corporation (NFHDC). Clearly both Urban Properties and Burnet perceived the climate in Buffalo was not conducive to further work. The main problem was the continuing controversy over the supply of labor. The larger neighborhood was increasingly African American, the city was constantly experiencing an exodus of the white population, but the labor force, including just about all of the local unions, were still dominated by whites. The economic discrimination faced by the African American community, then, had become a major factor in the many delays in the Ellicott job. This further demonstrated the numerous interconnections between the conditions of the neighborhood and the distribution of political and economic power within the community.

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Neighborhood Patterns, 1970 By 1970, the neighborhood patterns that exist in Buffalo today were well into the process of being established. While progress had been made on rebuilding the Ellicott redevelopment area, the very slow evolution of the project had several tangible effects on the surrounding neighborhood, many of which were apparent in the 1970 census. First, with new housing being built at such a slow rate, the overall amount of housing in the lower east side remained a major problem. Within the redevelopment area and land immediately adjacent to it, there was roughly a 40 percent decrease in the total amount of housing between 1960 and 1970.40 While the lack of new housing in the redevelopment area accounted for some of this housing stock loss, both the demolition of older homes and highway construction also contributed to the overall decline in the number of housing units. This massive loss of housing stock not only meant a substantially reduced supply of housing, but a large amount of vacant land—a major physical characteristic of the ghetto. And the shortage of housing meant that despite continuing population decreases, parts of the lower east side still had the highest percentage of overcrowded housing units anywhere in the city,41 illustrating the rather striking fact that housing loss actually surpassed population loss. Along with the decrease in the supply of housing, high commercial vacancy rates also developed along the east side’s main thoroughfares. The changing characteristics of the near east side were becoming evident on streets located several blocks to the north of the redevelopment area. For instance, one study of the east side business community completed in 1969 found that commercial vacancy rates along William Street, Broadway, and Sycamore Street were 24.7 percent, 14.5 percent, and 25.4 percent respectively.42 During the same period, vacancy rates along commercial strips in the northern, southern, and western sections of the city were approximately 10 percent, 7 percent, and 11 percent respectively.43 Such high vacancy rates on the main streets of the east side were another indicator of the stark differences between it and other parts of the city. And another study conducted a few years later found that the residential vacancy rate in a large section of the east side was almost twice the average of the rest of the city,44 indicating that while suitable housing was often overcrowded, much substandard housing remained vacant.

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Apart from the obvious emerging differences between the racial composition of the lower and middle east side in comparison to other neighborhoods, then, other signiﬁcant differences that were emerging were the large amounts of vacant land, buildings, and residences. Living among such a large amount of unused space clearly contributes to a feeling of powerlessness among neighborhood residents. They are continuously reminded of the fact that residents and businesses have little desire to locate in their community. The characteristics of economic activity in the area were also indicative of changing neighborhood conditions. Despite the massive loss in the white population, during the late 1960s, almost half of the businesses operated on the near east side were still owned by whites.45 While on one hand this ﬁgure sounded somewhat encouraging, perhaps indicating a slowing of the white exodus, a closer look at the nature of business activity, including employment patterns, revealed a different story. For one thing, only about one-quarter of the white business owners lived in the area, with approximately 44 percent living in the suburbs.46 Further, in the types of businesses which rely heavily on patronage from outside the neighborhood and even outside the city and region, whites dominated. For example, whites owned over 85 percent of all of the construction, manufacturing, transportation, utilities, and wholesaling operations located on the near east side.47 In contrast to this was the fact that black-owned businesses were dominated by small grocery stores and delicatessens, and serviceoriented establishments such as barber and beauty shops.48 This business ownership pattern also directly shaped employment patterns in the neighborhood in that 70 percent of all the full-time jobs were held by whites, while most of the part-time jobs were held by African Americans,49 illustrating the continuing economic isolation of African Americans. While there was still a fair amount of commercial activity in the lower and middle east side that involved the white community, it was inherently different from the black business community. Unlike the vast majority of black-owned businesses, many whiteowned businesses in the Ellicott and Masten districts did not depend on neighborhood clientele, and therefore their commercial success did not necessarily depend directly on the fate of the neighborhood. On the other hand, since a majority of black-owned businesses were largely dependent on neighborhood residents for their survival, as the area became less densely populated, and relatively

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more impoverished, there was simply no way that the African American business community could avoid feeling the effects. The neighborhood business study also revealed a rather unencouraging future for the east side. Completed just about one and one-half years after the 1967 riot, about 25 percent of white business owners reported that they were more than likely going to sell or relocate their businesses in the near future.50 By 1969, seven bank branches had either closed down or left the area,51 so the prospect of remaining businesses leaving was certainly not good news. Social problems, mainly crime, also continued to accompany the other changes occurring in the wider neighborhood. For instance, of the city’s fourteen police precincts, the four which comprised the substantial majority of the Ellicott and Masten districts accounted for roughly 70 percent of the murders, and 60 percent of the armed robberies during the early 1970s.52 Crime was a deterrent for neighborhood development as well as a cause of continual population loss. By 1970, therefore, a variety of factors were coming together to produce harsh conditions in much of the east side. The low supply of housing was a critical barrier to neighborhood development. Moreover, as long as redevelopment was happening so slowly, especially commercial redevelopment, even if one were able to ﬁnd suitable housing in the area, much of the neighborhood was becoming a less desirable place to live. So while whites had gradually been leaving the area for decades, the 1960s saw for the ﬁrst time a decrease in total population in much of the east side. As a matter of fact, even before the 1970 census was completed, the 1966 special census showed signiﬁcant drops in the population in many neighborhoods. As a result, a system of weighted voting was instituted by the common council to reﬂect the dramatic population changes. The weighted voting system was only temporary. It was used until the 1970 census was completed and the subsequent reapportionment of common council districts. Despite the fact that eight of nine council districts had shown some population loss, the loss experienced by the Ellicott district was by far the largest of any district in the city. Ellicottt’s population decreased 32 percent from 1960 to 1966,53 and an additional 12 percent between 1966 and 1970. With the small remaining white population continuing to leave, the lower and middle sections of the east side had become almost entirely African American residential areas.

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With the African American population growing, there were some indications of limited residential expansion of the black population by 1970. While this seemed to be a positive sign, there remained very clear boundaries beyond which African Americans were not welcome. The black population’s movement was still very much conﬁned to neighborhoods to the north, and to a limited extent, to the east. Moving south was still simply not a viable option.54 There was some migration west of Main Street, but it was also quite limited, and tended to be only in areas of the lower west side in and around the Lakeview Apartments, which by the middle 1960s had numerous black tenants.55 The council’s failure to pass the fair housing ordinance just a few years earlier meant that landlords and homeowners around the city could legally discriminate as they chose. The limited expansion of the black residential community is strong evidence that this type of discrimination remained pervasive. The residential segregation of the black community, particularly of lower-income African Americans, had the immediate effect of essentially preventing them from moving into other, often safer, neighborhoods, but also had a more subtle, long-term effect of continuing to isolate African Americans from the opportunity structure. Probably the most striking thing about the 1970 census, however, was the poverty it revealed.56 Of the eighteen tracts in the city with highest rates of poverty, thirteen were located contiguously, from the lower east side northward up to Delavan Avenue. Of these thirteen tracts, nine were made up predominantly of African Americans.57 The census conﬁrmed that poverty was concentrated in black neighborhoods, a fact that African Americans had known all along. The high poverty rates of African American residential areas were, without question, the most telling sign of the severe economic problems facing the black community. The State of Public Housing Related to the increasing racial segregation of neighborhoods, thus the geographic concentration of poverty, was the continued segregation of public housing. Despite the assurances that had been given by the BMHA in response to pressure from several sources, most notably the Urban League, and despite federal and state law prohibiting public housing segregation, in 1970 many of the city’s housing projects were still rigidly segregated according to race, particularly Ellicott and Talbert Malls, each of which had over

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99 percent black occupancy.58 Of the four housing developments managed by the BMHA in areas of the west side (including sections of north Buffalo west of Main Street), only two had measurable African American populations, one of which was the Lakeview Apartments located in the lower west side.59 Projects in predominantly white neighborhoods were kept predominantly white, which reinforced existing neighborhood patterns. And by the early 1970s, not only was the racial composition of different public housing projects becoming an issue, but the living conditions in public housing, especially at Ellicott and Talbert, had also become a topic for discussion and debate. With vacancy rates of 10 percent and 18.2 percent, Ellicott and Talbert Malls had more vacant apartments than every other public housing project in the city. By 1974, vacancy rates had increased at both developments, reaching alarming rates of 32 percent and 54 percent at Ellicott and Douglass Towers (Talbert Mall’s name had been changed to Frederick Douglass Towers in 1973).60 The poor living conditions and high vacancy rates in the two developments began an extended debate that continued for years, and reached its peak during the Grifﬁn administration. Such high vacancy rates were a strong indicator that even many low-income residents were simply refusing to consider living at the two developments, increasingly viewing them as the housing of last resort. Observing the urban situation in 1974, scholar Gary Orﬁeld remarked: The United States today faces racial segregation in its urban complexes on a scale that would have been virtually unimaginable a generation ago. Great cities, long considered typical American cities, have become sites both of ghettos of unprecedented vastness and of spreading economic malaise.61 While Orﬁeld was probably thinking more of large cities like Chicago or Detroit, in many respects his observations were an accurate description of what was happening in Buffalo.

Conclusion The early 1970s saw continued suburban expansion, the best example of which was the construction of Rich Stadium, home of the Buffalo Bills, in Orchard Park in 1973. The Bills had played

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their home games at War Memorial Stadium, located on Best Street in the heart of the Masten district, since 1960. Originally built in the 1930s, by the 1960s War Memorial was old and in very rough shape.62 When it came time to build a new stadium for the Bills, there was little serious debate about its location. Further, with the larger economy continuing to lose industrial jobs, the context in which local politics and development were taking place was becoming increasingly circumscribed.63 Upon the retirement of Mayor Sedita, voters chose long-time common council member Stanley Makowski, a Democrat, as their new mayor in 1973. Makowski, though not considered a forceful leader, was generally well liked, and was regarded as a humble man with deep convictions. There were three African American council members by the middle 1970s, and blacks ﬁnally had representation on the BMHA and school boards, and increasingly gained access to city jobs. But the clear differences between black and white neighborhoods that had been evolving for decades seemed to overshadow the black community’s political progress. And these differences only became more pronounced as the black population grew in numbers, and the white population continued its suburban migration. Politics and policy were clearly shaping neighborhood change and ghetto formation, but the emergence of the ghetto was also beginning to have a profound impact on politics. A political environment had been created in which some candidates and elected ofﬁcials exploited people’s fear of crime, busing, and general urban decay, in an attempt to capitalize on existing racial divisions. Although the city avoided the election of any white backlash mayors during this period, several council members and 1969 mayoral candidate, Alfreda Slominski, relied heavily on negative messages in their communications with the public, and tried to create political advantages for themselves at the expense of pressing social and political problems. While crime certainly was a serious problem in the lowest income areas, the removal of social problems from any historical context allowed the culture of poverty thesis to implicitly emerge as a popular explanation of the decline of the east side. Yet the mood in Buffalo was hardly unique. Americans had elected Richard Nixon to the White House in 1968 and 1972, and there were signs that many whites were not interested in entertaining the thought that racial discrimination was a main precipitator of the social problems and unrest in the nation’s ghettos in the late 1960s. Most whites simply saw the crime and social prob-

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lems that had become the norm in low-income urban neighborhoods. So while local politics and policy directly shaped land use and residential patterns which were manifest in harsh ghetto conditions, the relationship between neighborhood change and local politics had become a two-way street as opposition to busing and fear of crime became major issues taken up by conservative white politicians. While many of the efforts at policy related activism during the 1950s and 1960s dealt with issues related to housing and redevelopment, during the 1970s, the primary source of conﬂict became the public school system. Since the Supreme Court’s landmark decision in Brown v. Board of Education in 1954, local governments all over the country were faced with lawsuits involving intentionally segregated public school systems. Civil rights activists maintained that desegregated schools were essential for working toward equal opportunity in society. Litigation in the Buffalo desegregation case was initiated in 1972, after several years of failed desegregation efforts, and culminated in court-ordered desegregation in 1976. The desegregation case, and the election of Mayor Grifﬁn the following year, are both subjects taken up in the next chapter.

7 Arthur v. Nyquist and the Emergence of Mayor Grifﬁn

Chapter 7 discusses the events of school segregation and the beginning of the implementation of desegregation. The segregation of the Buffalo Public School System (BPSS) was achieved through a series of steps taken over several years, and further illustrates a pattern of decision-making in which race was the driving force. But apart from simply illustrating this pattern, the segregation of schools also had measurable effects on African American students by dramatically limiting their exposure to individuals connected with the opportunity structure. During a period of economic transformation, education becomes much more important, as it provides not only knowledge itself but also information about and access to further knowledge and opportunity. Rigidly segregated schools, however, circumscribed black students’ ability to take advantage of these functions of education, effectively locking them into isolated schools and, at the very least, indirectly contributed to the increasing rates of unemployment and poverty in African American neighborhoods. Moreover, segregated schools kept the races apart, thereby only reinforcing existing racial suspicion and fear. Chapter 7 also addresses the mayoral election of 1977 and the ﬁrst years of the Grifﬁn administration. Mayor Grifﬁn emerged within the context of the desegregation order, and has, without question become Buffalo’s best known modern political ﬁgure.1 When most people in Buffalo today think about city politics of the recent past, they think of the man that was mayor for sixteen years, known by everyone as “Jimmy.” Never a friend of the black community or even the local Democratic party establishment, Grifﬁn was elected four times under a variety of party labels not because of his overwhelming popularity, but rather because of the perpetual divisions within the electorate which prevented an African American, a progressive white, or a traditional Republican candidate from

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being elected. Grifﬁn’s rise to power represented a city struggling to come to terms with what it had become, and, in many respects, a city attempting to relive its past.

The School Desegregation Case: Arthur v. Nyquist Background In 1954 the U.S. Supreme Court handed down one of its most far reaching decisions, Brown v. Board of Education.2 The case produced school desegregation litigation in cities throughout the south, and in the decades that followed, throughout the north and west as well. The effects of segregated schools across the United States were extensive. Several years after Brown, approximately 380,000 students still attended all-black schools in twelve major northern and western cities alone.3 School districts across the south essentially ignored the order of the Supreme Court in Brown II all together. As scholar Gerald Rosenberg has written: “The statistics for the Southern states are truly amazing. For ten years, 1954–64, virtually nothing happened. Ten years after Brown, only 1.2 percent of black schoolchildren in the South attended school with whites.”4 While southern states and municipalities were generally more explicit in their efforts to segregate schools, frequently requiring them by statute, for example, northern school districts were segregated in more subtle ways, through the use of attendance policies, school locations, and so forth. But no matter how school systems were segregated, the eventual effects were the same—to place African American students into their own, inferior schools, and to keep the races away from each other from the youngest possible age. Buffalo was one of many northern cities that had segregated its school system, and on April 30, 1976, Federal District Court Chief Judge John Curtin handed down the order that directly affected the lives of people in every neighborhood in the city. The case, Arthur v. Nyquist,5 originally ﬁled in 1972, was the culmination of a series of events that had actually begun in the late 1950s, when the population of the east side began to undergo signiﬁcant racial change. The plaintiffs in the case were parents of students in the public school system as well as the CCHR and the Buffalo branch of the NAACP. Defendants included New York State Education Commissioner Ewald Nyquist, the state board of regents and its

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individual members, former Buffalo School Superintendent Joseph Manch, Eugene Reville, the superintendent in 1976, the board of education, the common council, and the mayor, Stanley Makowski. The school board is the body formally charged with running the school system. But the board is dependent upon the common council and mayor for its funding. Under state law, the school board is also ultimately subject to the control of the New York State Board of Regents and Commissioner of Education, which is why there were several defendants in Arthur other than the school board itself. The Facts of Arthur: Methods of School Segregation The allegations made by the plaintiffs were numerous, and included the segregation of staff, school siting in a manner that created segregation, altering of school district lines to create segregation, the creation of optional attendance zones and a transfer system in a way which contributed to segregation, failure to implement any effective plan of integration, failure to hire sufﬁcient numbers of minority teachers as well as failure to promote sufﬁcient numbers of minority individuals to supervisory positions, and failure to fund the proposed new East Side High School.6 The evidence of widespread racial imbalance throughout the BPSS was unambiguous and striking.7 So, in light of Supreme Court rulings on the issue,8 the major question to be decided was not whether segregated schools existed in Buffalo, but rather if the BPSS had been intentionally segregated. The defendants maintained that segregated schools were the inevitable result of segregated housing patterns that were not under their control. The segregation of the BPSS was not produced intentionally, the argument went, and therefore the defendants were not liable. As we have seen throughout the preceding chapters, as the African American population grew during the 1950s and 1960s, the city’s neighborhoods did, in fact, become increasingly segregated. But as the evidence presented during the trial clearly demonstrated, city ofﬁcials had taken a number of actions since the 1950s which were intended to create a segregated school system. Judge Curtin’s opinion was based primarily on an analysis of data on the public schools and several decisions made by the school board and common council which directly or indirectly affected the racial composition of every school in the BPSS. Curtin traced several policies adopted by the school board and other ofﬁcials, particularly the common council, beginning in the 1950s. They all demonstrated

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the city’s intention to segregate the school system, the earliest of which chronologically was the redistricting of East High School. The Segregation of East High School The school board took several actions, beginning in 1954, which had the direct effect of making East a virtually all-black school, including changing the school’s attendance zones9 and optional attendance zones,10 and altering which junior high schools would be feeder schools to East.11 When the board ﬁrst started to make these changes, the population of the middle section of the east side was becoming increasingly black. But the black population’s migration from the lower east side was mainly in a northern direction during the 1950s and 1960s. There were clear limits to the east, west, and south beyond which few African Americans could easily move. East High, however, was located in the central part of the east side, east of the area in which the African American community was increasing in population, in a neighborhood that still had a sizeable white population until well into the 1960s.12 Because of its location, then, East High would have been an integrated school if customary attendance polices were followed. But the redistricting of East which took place in several different steps during the 1950s and 1960s had the effect of making East an all-black school. While this attendance policy had the clear effect of making East an African American school, it also had the effect of making two other high schools—South Park and Kensington—almost entirely white schools, a pattern which persisted for many years.13 Another method of segregating East High was the system of language transfers adopted by the board. The BPSS had a language instruction program in place in which certain languages, including Spanish, French, and Latin, were taught at all of the academic high schools. Other languages, designated special languages, including Polish, Hebrew, Italian, and Russian, were taught only at selected schools. Under the board’s policies, then, if a student lived in a district that lacked a special language, he or she could transfer to another school simply on the basis of the expressed desire to take courses in a particular special language. Because of the relatively high number of Polish Americans living in its vicinity, a course in Polish was offered at East High until 1960. But thereafter, all special language instruction was terminated at East, making it the only academic high school in the city with no special languages.14

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As Curtin emphasized in his opinion, as of 1973, East High’s district was still about 40 percent white, yet the school was 99 percent African American, indicating that a substantial number of white students were transferring out of East.15 The board admitted that the language transfer system contributed somewhat to the racial imbalance at East, but argued that effects of the transfer policy were not a substantial cause of that imbalance. Under increasing pressure, the language transfer system was terminated in 1972, and the board ordered a wider variety of languages to be offered at East. The possibility that the language transfer system was contributing to the segregation of East had been originally raised several years earlier,16 and the board had been under intermittent pressure to change the policy. In 1972, however, East remained an almost exclusively black school. The board argued that after 1973, white students in the East district were using means beyond their control, such as false addresses, to avoid attending East. But the court concluded otherwise, maintaining that the system of language transfers had the effect of concentrating minority students at East High. In combination with the redistricting that had taken place several years earlier, East had been effectively designated by local ofﬁcials as the city’s black academic high school. The Conﬂict over Woodlawn Junior High One of the major political events addressed by the court in Arthur was the siting and districting of the Woodlawn Junior High School, which began in the late 1950s and continued through the middle 1960s, thus coinciding with the initial controversy over Ellicott redevelopment. Whereas the redistricting of East High had been executed without much public debate, the conﬂict over Woodlawn Junior High produced a protracted public discussion. Woodlawn was a major political issue and received extensive coverage in the local media. In fact, many middle-aged and elderly people in Buffalo today remember the Woodlawn districting decision as the ﬁrst major civil rights debate in the city’s history. The controversy over Woodlawn began during the middle and late 1950s when schools in the Masten district began to become overcrowded.17 As we have seen, there was a housing problem developing in the Ellicott district, and as a result, black migration increased dramatically into the Masten district. The decision was made by the city, therefore, to construct a new junior high in the area, leaving the questions of exact site selection and districting

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open as various parties debated these issues for several years. Although many possible sites were suggested, there were only two sites given serious consideration by the school board and common council for Woodlawn, both of which were located in the northern area of the Masten district.18 One of the sites was located on Woodlawn Avenue, just a few blocks to the east of Main Street in a predominantly black area; the other possible site was located several blocks northeast of the Woodlawn site, in an area that still possessed a fair number of white residents.19 Debate on the site of the new school began in 1958, and the board held an open meeting on the matter in December of that year to hear the views of the public on the issue. While some citizens spoke out against the Woodlawn Avenue site, arguing that it would inevitably lead to a segregated school, as pointed out by Judge Curtin, the issue of the site selection of the school was not strictly divided along racial lines. Recognizing the issue of overcrowding in the neighborhood’s schools, Masten District Councilwoman Cora Maloney and other African American leaders, with some reservations, spoke in favor of the Woodlawn site.20 As a result, the board, which at the time still had no black membership, unanimously recommended the Woodlawn site, and the council shortly thereafter unanimously approved it as well.21 After the site of the school was selected, however, there was the still the issue of the school’s districting to be resolved. The location of the school on Woodlawn Avenue did not necessarily mean that it would be a segregated school. The racial composition of the school would depend upon where its attendance zones were located. In 1964, a full six years after the siting decision, with the districting decision still pending, the school board again solicited the opinions of the public, and the issue attracted increased attention. There was a lengthy period of debate on the districting of Woodlawn, occurring over several months in 1964. In between the original siting decision and the districting decision, the ﬁrst African American was appointed to the school board, Dr. Lydia Wright, giving the black community an ofﬁcial voice in the districting debate. Several possible districting schemes were discussed, ranging from a plan which would have produced an almost entirely African American school to one which would have made Woodlawn a white majority school.22 Woodlawn was built on Masten Avenue, only about two blocks east of Main Street. But with the area immediately west of Main Street still being virtually all white,23 if the attendance lines for Woodlawn went across Main, the school necessarily would

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have been integrated. Several groups began to take positions on both sides of the issue, including some Catholic organizations which advocated for an integrated school.24 Among the various districting proposals was the one offered by Dr. Wright, which would have made the school roughly 38 percent African American.25 White neighborhoods located to the west of Main Street, in much of the area that was included in Dr. Wright’s districting plan, however, protested her plan with a petition of over twelve thousand signatures.26 Thus opposition to creating an integrated Woodlawn Junior High was substantial. As a result of west side neighborhood pressure, at the meeting of the school board on March 26, 1964, one of the board members submitted a resolution which made Woodlawn a 99 percent black school.27 The board voted in favor of this proposal by a vote of six to one, with Dr. Wright casting the only dissenting vote.28 The ﬁnal districting plan that was adopted for Woodlawn did, in fact, extend west of Main Street. But much of the area west of Main was designated as an optional attendance area, allowing students living there, almost all of whom were white, to easily avoid attending the school. Moreover, the evidence illustrated that many white students living even in the nonoptional area west of Main avoided going to the school through the use of transfers. Consequently, the school remained 99 percent African American from the time it opened through 1973.29 Like East High, Woodlawn had been effectively designated an all African American school. Transfers and Optional Zones There were several other methods used by city ofﬁcials to segregate schools, including the use of transfers and optional attendance zones. These methods were more subtle than redistricting, but ultimately had the same segregative effect. Throughout the BPSS, white elementary and junior high students were regularly given transfers to avoid attending certain schools, which inevitably led to the increasing segregation of those schools.30 Further, the school system had established polices specifying which elementary schools would feed each junior high school, and which junior high schools would feed each high school. Therefore if a student successfully transferred out of a particular elementary school, then all of the schools he or she would attend in the future would also change, a policy which made the segregation of the entire BPSS much easier to achieve.

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And the board also maintained an optional attendance zone policy whereby students living in geographic areas designated as optional had a choice about where to attend school. While on the surface the optional zones policy was not necessarily a means of segregating the school system, the populations of the numerous optional areas in the BPSS were disproportionately white.31 This of course gave the white student population more choices about where to attend school, while also locking the African American community into attending certain schools. In 1973, under increasing pressure, the board abolished the optional zones policy all together. But because of the system of feeder schools, the effects of the optional zones policy were certain to be evident for many years after their abolition. Taken together, Curtin concluded that the transfer and optional areas policies “were substantial contributing factors to the segregation at all levels of the BPSS, and [that] this segregative effect was clearly foreseeable by the Board.”32 Segregation of Vocational and Technical Schools At the time of the Arthur decision, there were six vocational and technical schools in the Buffalo school system, each of which had a particular type of curriculum. Unlike all other schools which had designated districts, attendance at the vocational and technical schools was open to any student in the city, with the only considerations being space available and the student’s ability to meet certain qualiﬁcations. Similar to the system of optional attendance zones, admission to the vocational and technical schools appeared to be colorblind. The racial composition of the schools, however, showed otherwise. One of the six vocational schools, Fosdick Masten, located in the Masten district, was, like East High, a nearly all African American school.33 The admissions procedure for the vocational and technical schools was changed in 1973. But the effects of past admissions procedures were still evident when Arthur was decided, leaving Judge Curtin to conclude that the segregation of the vocational and technical schools was, in fact, a deliberate act on the part of the school board.34 Segregation of Staff The various steps taken by the board to segregate students were not the only variable in the segregation of the school system.

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District staff was also rigidly segregated according to race. Black staff members were assigned primarily to schools with high black enrollments, while most white staff members were kept at predominantly white schools. Further, the number of black staff members was disproportionately low in comparison to the number of African American students in the school system and in the city as a whole.35 The evidence introduced during the trial showed that the placement of African American faculty in predominantly black schools dated back to at least 1960, and that black administrators were concentrated in predominantly African American schools also. The board did not deny that staff was segregated according to race. Rather, the board argued that the motivation for segregating staff was to provide role models for black youth.36 Calling the board’s rationale “legally irrelevant,” however, Judge Curtin argued that “[i]ntegration, and the understanding it fosters will provide both black and white role models for both black and white children.”37 Apart from the legal dimensions of the staff segregation issue was the logical difﬁculty with the board’s reasoning. It is true that black staff were concentrated in predominantly African American schools, but it is also true that there were simply not very many African American staff members in the ﬁrst place. Because of the low proportion of black teachers, even schools with very high percentages of African American students, in the 80 percent to 90 percent range or higher, only had a small number of black teachers. So despite the fact that African American teachers were concentrated in predominantly black schools, most African American students would not have had any black teachers, which substantially undermined the role model argument. Related to the issue of staff assignment and the overall number of African American staff was the issue of staff recruiting. Citing data showing that the total number of nonwhite teachers in the school system remained at approximately 11 percent between 1967 and 1973, despite the fact that the city was roughly 21 percent nonwhite, the plaintiffs charged that the board discriminated against minority groups in its hiring procedures.38 Again, the data were clear, and Judge Curtin ultimately held the school board responsible for failing to increase the percentage of minority staff in the BPSS. The Role of State Ofﬁcials As Curtin’s opinion clearly demonstrated, a substantial amount of evidence was presented which showed that beginning in the

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1950s, city ofﬁcials took a number of steps to deliberately segregate the school system. But in legal terms, New York State was ultimately responsible for the BPSS, which somewhat complicated the Arthur case. The plaintiffs charged the New York State Commissioner of Education and Board of Regents with contributing to the segregation of the BPSS. Thus the trial also included testimony and evidence on the role that the state defendants had played. There was evidence that New York had not made a concerted effort to facilitate the desegregation of the BPSS. For example, as early as 1964, in response to the districting decision of Woodlawn Junior High, several parents took their case to the New York State Commissioner of Education, maintaining that the Buffalo schools were segregated, that blacks were discriminated against in the hiring of teachers, and that the Buffalo Board of Education did nothing to address these issues.39 In response to the parents’ appeal, on February 15, 1965, the education commissioner ordered the school board to initiate a plan which addressed the issue of racial imbalance in the BPSS.40 The board did not appeal the commissioner’s order, thus implying at least some sort of intention to comply with it. The plaintiffs, however, charged that the commissioner was aware of the fact that the school board did nothing to comply with the 1965 order for several years, up until June 30, 1974, when an elected school board ﬁrst took ofﬁce.41 The board did submit a plan in response to the commissioner’s 1965 ruling, but the plan was not approved since it failed to “come to grips realistically with the problem or to present a long-range solution or to identify the barriers which must be overcome in order to reach a solution.”42 In September 1966, Commissioner Allen again ordered the board to develop and submit a plan for integrating the BPSS. Once again, however, the plan developed by the board in April 1967, was found to be unsatisfactory by the commissioner, which prompted him to order the development of yet another plan for integrating the BPSS. Finally in January 1968, the board developed a new, more substantial districtwide desegregation plan called the Quality Integrated Education (QIE) program.43 While not immediately desegregating the entire BPSS, the QIE program called for a number of steps to achieve more racial balance throughout the school system. The problem, however, was that in order to implement the QIE program, the board was dependent upon the actions of the common council. Speciﬁcally, the board needed appropriations to increase the capacity of schools, in the form of portable classrooms,

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which were necessary to accommodate additional minority students in the QIE program. Almost immediately after the board made the portable classrooms proposal, the council requested that the corporation counsel draw up legislation which would prohibit the use of such portable classrooms, thereby indeﬁnitely delaying the implementation of the QIE program. Despite the fact that the corporation counsel refused to go along with the common council’s request, saying that such legislation was “discriminatory in purpose, nature, and object,”44 in June the council proceeded to enact an ordinance effectively prohibiting the use of portable classrooms. As expected, the nine to four vote went along racial lines, with the only white council member voting against the ordinance being atlarge member and future mayor, Stan Makowski. Once passed, the ordinance was vetoed by Mayor Sedita, but shortly thereafter overridden by the council by a vote of eleven to four.45 Following this set of events, the school board immediately took the city and council to court, and was successful in getting the local ordinance declared unconstitutional.46 But the immediate effect of the battle between the council and the board, however, was to delay the implementation of the portable classrooms provision of the QIE program for at least one year, and to further fan the ﬂames of racial tension. Moreover, the council also opposed the provision of the QIE program calling for a system of new, more integrated middle schools. Again, the council used its power of the purse for several years to delay the appropriations necessary for the construction of the middle schools, thereby striking another blow to the basic goals of the QIE program. So by the time the school board had ﬁnally come to terms, even if grudgingly, with the need to desegregate the BPSS, a recalcitrant common council, the same council which had opposed fair housing legislation in 1968, had become the primary roadblock to achieving desegregated schools. Despite continued common council opposition, there were certain desegregation efforts in place between 1969 and 1972.47 But in light of the rather modest results of these limited programs, in 1972 the BPSS remained segregated, which prompted New York Education Commissioner Nyquist to push the school board further. Speciﬁcally, Nyquist ordered the board to create a plan of integration “under which every school would substantially reﬂect the racial composition of the entire district.”48 Such a plan would necessarily involve busing, which prompted a negative response from several board members, ultimately leading the board to vote four to three in support of a motion informing Nyquist that it was

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unable to comply with his most recent order. While the board had gradually become more receptive to the idea of a desegregated school system, achieving such a system through the use of districtwide busing was just not a popular proposal. In its place, the board developed its own new plan of desegregation, spelled out in the Heck Report, which led Nyquist to send a state task force to Buffalo to develop a state plan for integrating the BPSS. The task force suggested two plans, both of which were rejected by the board, creating still another stalemate in desegregation.49 By early 1973, then, only one new middle school had been constructed and only one other middle school had been converted from a junior high school under the QIE program. The results of ineffective desegregation policies meant that despite years of prodding by state ofﬁcials, and eight full years after the original appeal regarding the districting of Woodlawn Junior High, the BPSS remained quite segregated, with each of the middle and junior high schools being severely racially imbalanced.50 Citing New York law which gives the education commissioner the power to remove ofﬁcers or withhold funds in response to any local education ofﬁcials who deliberately disobey any decision or ruling made by state ofﬁcials, Judge Curtin ultimately found the state defendants liable for the segregation of the BPSS as well.51 Curtin argued that the state defendants did not oversee the BPSS in an appropriate manner, and that consequently their inaction in the face of the resistance of Buffalo ofﬁcials essentially made them as responsible as local ofﬁcials for the segregation of the BPSS. The Role of Segregated Neighborhoods In his opinion, Curtin went on to discuss several other factors which contributed to the segregation of the school system, most of which revolved around residential segregation. One of the central claims made by the city defendants was that the BPSS was segregated because the city’s neighborhoods were segregated. Many of the issues discussed by Curtin that contributed to the city’s residential patterns have been discussed here in previous chapters, including BMHA polices segregating public housing developments, FHA policies establishing and reinforcing segregated neighborhoods, local real estate practices which directly contributed to segregated living patterns, and the city’s pattern of relocation during the Ellicott district redevelopment project.52 All of these factors directly con-

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tributed to the segregation of Buffalo’s neighborhoods, but did not exonerate the actions taken by local ofﬁcials that directly affected how the school system operated, actions which eventually created a rigidly segregated educational system. The Decision and the Appeal Maintaining that “[t]his court is not, and does not want to be, a school administrator,” Curtin ruled that all of the defendants were liable for the segregation of the BPSS, and ordered them to devise a suitable desegregation plan. As expected, the defendants appealed the district court’s decision in Arthur. The appeals court upheld all of the district court’s ﬁndings with respect to local ofﬁcials, but overturned the liability of state ofﬁcials in the case. In the appellate case, decided in March 1978, the second circuit court of appeals ruled that the state ofﬁcials involved, despite their lack of deliberate action, could not be held responsible for violating the Constitution.53 In some respects, the ﬁnding of liability on the part of the state defendants at the district court level was no real surprise. The desegregation order was bound to be unpopular. When the district court found that the state defendants were also liable for the segregation of the BPSS, however, the issue was transformed. In other words, the blame was not being placed solely on the shoulders of local ofﬁcials, hence the overall blow to the community that the desegregation order constituted was softened. Federal district court judges often ﬁnd themselves in a precarious position. Despite being unelected ofﬁcials with lifetime appointment, they frequently play signiﬁcant roles in the process of local government, deciding policy issues that have wide-ranging effects.54 Clearly Judge Curtin was aware of the difﬁcult spot he was in. The ﬁnding of liability on the part of the state ofﬁcials, then, made the district court’s position a little less suspect in the minds of the community, thereby made the initial desegregation order more palatable, and contributed to an environment in which future court orders would be more readily accepted. The fact that the appeals court overturned the liability of the state defendants may have been legally important, but it was politically insigniﬁcant. The fact was that the district court had come down hard on New York State for contributing to the segregation of the BPSS, which was the important point in the minds of Buffalonians who had to deal with the desegregation order.

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Since the schools were rigidly segregated, districtwide busing was one possibility of creating a desegregated school system almost immediately. But such a remedy could also produce revolt of one form or another. When the desegregation order was originally handed down, all the parties involved knew that desegregation had to proceed slowly. So with the liability of the city defendants upheld, and the Supreme Court refusing to review the Arthur decision,55 it was then up to local ofﬁcials to draw up a plan for desegregating the BPSS, and then submit that plan to the district court for approval and monitoring. Before examining the implementation of desegregation, however, it is necessary to look at the effects of the segregation of the BPSS. Reinforcing other policies which had led to segregated neighborhoods, segregated educational facilities had a negative impact not only on the city’s African American community, but also on race relations in general.

The Effects of Segregated Schools The segregation of the BPSS was important for several reasons. First, the actions that produced segregated schools were illustrative of a long-term pattern of decision-making, one in which race was the primary force at work. Yet it was also important because of its effects on African American students, the local political environment, and race relations in the city. The immediate, tangible effects of segregated schools on race relations in Buffalo were necessarily negative. The city’s neighborhoods gradually began to become more segregated with the introduction of public housing in the 1930s. While during the 1950s and 1960s it was becoming less likely for anyone to live on an integrated block, the segregation of schools further prevented virtually any signiﬁcant contact between the races from a very young age. If one did not live in a neighborhood with members of another race, attending school could have provided the only real interracial contact. Segregated schools, however, further solidiﬁed the lack of interracial contact, and therefore only contributed to and reinforced existing racial separation, isolation, thus stereotyping and fear. Poor race relations became evident in the debate over Woodlawn Junior High and during the conﬂict regarding the use of portable classrooms. Both in many ways were repeat performances of the bitter conﬂict over the siting of the Willert Park extension that had

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taken place roughly thirty years earlier. Segregated schools hardened white racism. Apart from issues related to interracial contact and race relations, there were several indicators that the educational performance of black students was suffering under the policy of segregation. Probably the best evidence of this was the disproportionately high dropout rate at high schools on the east side in the years before the desegregation order. For example, in 1969, the citywide dropout rate for public high schools was approximately 7 percent.56 Within the designated model city neighborhood, however, which contained a large section of the near east side, the dropout rate for public high school students was between 9 percent and 20 percent.57 The dropout rate at East High was the city’s highest in the years before the desegregation order, consistently being between 22 and 24 percent during the middle and late 1960s.58 And of the six vocational schools, the dropout rates at the three schools with the highest percentages of African Americans were also the highest in the city in the years before the desegregation order.59 High school students are very vulnerable to peer pressure, so high dropout rates are in many respects a self-fulﬁlling phenomenon. If youth see their peers dropping out of school, and see little opportunity for advancement around them, with or without a high school degree, then they are more likely to drop out of school themselves. We have plainly seen the housing and job discrimination faced by the black community, and certainly these forms of discrimination were on the minds of African American youth during the years of school segregation. In other words, in an environment where discrimination is prevalent, individuals will be more likely to psychologically react in a manner which further limits their already narrow opportunities for advancement. In an extensive review of the literature on neighborhood effects on individual choices, scholars George Galster and Sean Killen found that “neighborhood and peer effects can be potent inﬂuences on youth’s choices.”60 The high dropout rates among black youth, then, can best be interpreted as a reﬂection of alienation brought on by an immediate environment in which discrimination, lack of opportunity, and peer pressure all reinforced one another, and substantially increased the likelihood of African American youth dropping out of school. The high dropout rate directly contributed to the relatively low average levels of education within the black community that also accompanied segregation. For example, in 1966, while slightly

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less than 25 percent of the city’s entire population had less than eight years of education, within the model neighborhood area, this ﬁgure was approximately 35 percent.61 This was another indication of the educational deprivation of the black community. Although this low educational attainment can partially be attributed to the lack of education of many southern migrants, the higher level of dropouts in African American schools certainly contributed to this phenomenon as well. Further, segregated schools had an impact on unemployment for several reasons. The ﬁrst is the obvious connection between educational level and employment. Even many of the lowest wage jobs require a high school degree. But even more important than simply achieving a certain level of education is the ability to take advantage of connections in high school that can be used to gain access to employment, both in the short-term and in long-range careers. These potential connections between the African American community and the larger opportunity structure were dramatically reduced when the school system was intentionally segregated, which contributed to the consistently higher rates of black unemployment and poverty as well as the disproportionately large numbers of blacks who worked in low-wage jobs. One of the primary goals of plaintiffs in school desegregation cases around the country was not simply to win the right to attend schools with whites, but rather to have the same opportunity as whites. Desegregating schools, while not something that could completely reverse the effects of all forms of discrimination, represented at least one step toward achieving this goal, and therefore the decision in Arthur constituted a critically important civil rights victory in Buffalo.

The Beginning of the Implementation of the Desegregation Order Once the desegregation order was handed down by Judge Curtin, several questions remained unanswered. How exactly would the BPSS be desegregated? Would children living all over the city be bused to new schools to achieve a desegregated system? And would local residents accept a court-ordered desegregation plan? Regarding the ﬁrst of these questions, Curtin ordered the defendants to draw up a plan for desegregation and present it to the court. In June 1976, the court held eight days of hearings on

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the desegregation plans proposed by the school board. The thrust of any desegregation plan was the elimination of racially identiﬁable schools, which, of course, could be accomplished in a variety of ways. Shortly after the original hearings on the board’s plans, in July 1976, Curtin ruled that the elimination of racially identiﬁable schools would require busing, but that the burden of busing should be shared equally between minority and white students.62 The board’s initial desegregation plan, labeled phase I, was implemented in the fall of 1976. It included the redistricting of all the high schools, and plans for the eventual closing of the two African American high schools, East and Fosdick Masten. Both were subsequently closed in June 1979. In addition, phase I called for the closing of ten elementary schools, and the opening of two magnet schools in minority neighborhoods. Of the ten elementary schools, ﬁve were predominantly white and the other ﬁve were predominantly African American.63 The ﬁrst phase was reasonably conservative in terms of student reassignments, and as a result, was adopted with little difﬁculty. In the meantime, however, there was a mayoral election, in November 1977, one in which the ﬁrst African American running in a major party faced off against a candidate who was to hold the city’s highest ofﬁce for sixteen years.

The Election of 1977 With school desegregation proceeding reasonably smoothly, Mayor Makowski decided not to run for reelection after four candidates emerged as challengers within his own party. Several months before the election, State Senator James Grifﬁn and Deputy Majority Leader of the New York State Assembly Arthur Eve both announced that they would be seeking the Democratic nomination for mayor. In addition to Eve and Grifﬁn, two other candidates—Leslie Foschio (the corporation counsel and endorsed party candidate), and a little known city employee—also declared themselves contenders for the mayoral nomination. Makowski was vulnerable for several reasons, all of which prompted the competition to emerge. The middle 1970s were trying years for Buffalo. Makowski had been leading the city during the desegregation case, an ever-worsening ﬁscal crisis, and, to make matters worse, also during the biggest snow storm in the city’s history, the blizzard of 1977. Mayor Makowski was also associated with a politically disastrous city-imposed occupancy tax that was

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adopted during his administration. The city’s escalating decline during the early and middle 1970s simply made it too difﬁcult for any mayor to escape blame. Respected by his peers but neither charismatic nor much of a leader, Makowski reasoned he had little chance of winning reelection, which prompted him to step down from the mayor’s ofﬁce once several competitors announced their candidacies. Although Grifﬁn and Eve were elected ofﬁcials at the state level, both men were known outside their legislative districts. Eve, an African American, was an up and coming politician, Deputy Majority Leader of the New York State Assembly, and was one of the most well known black leaders in western New York. Grifﬁn, who had been on the common council during the early 1960s and in the state senate since, was popular within his own district, but was also a known entity in other neighborhoods. And Foschio’s status as the endorsed party candidate improved his visibility with the voters. The race for the Democratic primary thus became basically a three-way race between Foschio, Grifﬁn, and Eve. After an impressive voter registration effort, and in what was considered somewhat of an upset, Eve won the primary, by receiving 37.7 percent of the almost 72,000 votes cast, compared to Grifﬁn’s 33.3 percent, and Foschio’s 25.8 percent. Eve carried four council districts, including Masten, Ellicott, Fillmore, and University, but because there were four candidates in the race, he received a majority only in the Ellicott and Masten districts. Grifﬁn received a plurality in three districts, South, Lovejoy, and Niagara, but only received a majority in his home district, South. Although losing the Democratic nomination, prior to the primary Grifﬁn had positioned himself to run in the general election by receiving the endorsement of the Conservative party, and ran unopposed in that party’s primary. Generally third-party candidates have little name recognition, and receive the votes only of a small core group of ideologues. Yet Grifﬁn’s status as a third party challenger in the general election pitted three well known candidates against one another— Democrat Eve, Republican John J. Phelan, and Conservative candidate Grifﬁn. Considering the numbers of both registered Republicans and African Americans in the city, it would be difﬁcult for either Phelan or Eve to capture the mayor’s ofﬁce without picking up large numbers of votes outside their traditional constituencies, a fact which helped Grifﬁn’s chances. The city had become overwhelmingly

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Democratic by 1977, with between two and one-half and three times as many registered Democrats as Republicans.64 But the African American population was just under 25 percent,65 meaning that any African American candidate, even in a three-way race, would have to pick up more than a token number of white votes in order to win. In the end, the election rested largely on how the white middleclass voted since it was clear that Grifﬁn had a lock on the whiteworking class, and that Eve had solidiﬁed the black vote. The problem for Eve’s candidacy, however, was that the white middle-class included a measurable number of Republicans, and there was a Republican candidate already in the race. Eve’s chances, then, ultimately depended upon white middle-class liberals and any white middle-class moderates who were so put off by Grifﬁn’s unabashedly working-class appeal and also unwilling to support a Republican that they would seriously consider an African American candidate. The general election produced a very high turnout, with approximately 80 percent of the electorate going to the polls. Race was an underlying issue throughout the campaign, which was highlighted by the fact that there were more African American candidates seeking city ofﬁce than ever before. The ﬁnal tally for the mayor’s race in an election consisting of a total of six candidates gave Grifﬁn a 42 percent plurality, with Eve receiving over 31 percent and Republican Phelan receiving 25 percent. Of the nine council districts, Grifﬁn wound up winning ﬁve, with Eve taking three and Phelan winning one. As expected, Eve won handily in Ellicott and Masten, and also won by a very narrow margin in the Fillmore district, which had an increasing number of African American residents. Grifﬁn won in ﬁve districts, including Lovejoy, Niagara, North, University, and South. The only area of the city to go Republican was the Delaware district. There, Phelan won with approximately 41 percent, as compared to Eve’s 29 percent and Grifﬁn’s 29 percent. For the most part, the election went along racial lines, although Eve did pick up some votes in white middleclass neighborhoods. Grifﬁn won by large margins in white working-class and lower-income areas, but also picked up a reasonable number of votes among middle-class white voters in neighborhoods all around the city. As expected, many registered Republicans, a substantial percentage of whom lived in exclusive pockets of the Delaware district, voted for Phelan. Grifﬁn had become mayor with the support of a minority of the electorate.

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The Grifﬁn Style Almost immediately upon taking ofﬁce, Grifﬁn was a man who nearly everyone in the city had an opinion about. Buffalonians who lived through his administration tend to either feel very positively or very negatively about him—there is not much middle ground when discussing Grifﬁn’s leadership style. To his supporters, Grifﬁn was “one of us,” he was a real person in a world of phony politicians. He was tough. In fact, he was a ﬁghter, both literally and ﬁguratively. He was honest, did not play games, and spoke his mind on anything and everything with little hesitation. His supporters felt strongly that Grifﬁn understood the lives of everyday people because he was an everyday person himself. His supporters loved him. In fact, it is difﬁcult to overstate the kind of support that Grifﬁn received—it bordered on worship. For many Grifﬁn supporters, party labels did not matter much, so his Conservative party afﬁliation was not all that signiﬁcant. His working-class reputation seemed to transcend party labels, and for many Buffalonians represented a way of life that was being threatened. Political scientist Donald Rosenthal has accurately captured much of the essence of Grifﬁn’s appeal: “Grifﬁn expounded a low-tax and low-expenditure policy popular with his working-class base and social values consistent with a local political culture where racism was barely disguised and contempt for gay men and lesbians was outspoken.”66 On the other hand, to his detractors, Grifﬁn was temperamental, nearly dictatorial. He had the characteristics of a megalomaniac. He was intolerant, bigoted, coarse, and sarcastic. He was wholly unprofessional, and completely lacking in basic leadership abilities. He was a man stuck in the past, and wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock to the Buffalo of his youth. Though many would argue that Grifﬁn’s straightforwardness was more appearance than reality, in certain respects, both of these characterizations are correct. Grifﬁn was an everyday person who spoke his mind and shot from the hip. But he was also intolerant and had a temper that few can rival. Throughout his years in public life he had several well-publicized physical altercations, and thus became known as someone who, although being only ﬁve feet seven inches tall, and weighing about 160 pounds, would not hesitate to take verbal disagreement to another level. Grifﬁn was simply not interested in any debate on most issues. Discussion and deliberation were just not part of his style, a fact which produced

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extended conﬂict between him and the common council later in his administration. He attempted to run Buffalo with an iron ﬁst, and more often than not, it was Grifﬁn’s way or no way at all.

The Role of Race in the Election of Grifﬁn There is little doubt that race was a large factor in bringing Grifﬁn to power. The inﬂuence of race can be evident in electoral politics in several ways. For example, someone running for elected ofﬁce might not make overt racial appeals, but still present himself or herself in such a manner as to trigger the issue of race immediately in the minds of the voters. This kind of scenario is a reasonable assessment of the election of 1977. Grifﬁn did not make overt appeals on the basis of race, like many southern leaders during the debates about segregation, or even like Philadelphia’s Mayor Frank Rizzo who, when faced with strong African American opposition, encouraged his loyal supporters to “vote white.”67 Nor did he, despite being adamantly opposed to court-ordered busing and to the role of the judiciary in education in the ﬁrst place, speak out against the orders of Judge Curtin. But simply because Grifﬁn did not encourage constituents to oppose the desegregation order does not make him worthy of praise on this issue, nor does it diminish the impact of racial politics. The desegregation order of 1976 was, after all, one of the main reasons Grifﬁn decided to run for mayor in the ﬁrst place, and a strong dislike of the power of nonelected judges, and, by extension, the desegregation order itself, was a clear campaign theme, and one which the public heard repeatedly throughout his administration. Grifﬁn also implicitly associated his opponent Eve with crime, which was, without question an appeal to the racial fears of whites. Once in ofﬁce, there were numerous speciﬁc actions the mayor took which clearly revealed how racial politics were driving debates about the school system. A large number of the mayor’s supporters, both in south Buffalo and in other white neighborhoods, sent their children to Catholic schools, so consequently the public school system, with or without desegregation, was not a priority to them or to the mayor. But those Grifﬁn supporters who sent their children to public schools strongly opposed desegregation, especially the idea of busing, which only hardened the mayor’s position on the issue. By 1977, the mayor no longer had the power to appoint the school board, which dramatically reduced the inﬂuence of the administration

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over school policy, thereby eliminating one possible avenue for Grifﬁn to pursue. With his direct power over the school system reduced, Grifﬁn used one of the only legal methods of opposing the orders of Judge Curtin—appealing his rulings concerning the methods of desegregation as well as the funding of the school system. The Grifﬁn administration’s numerous appeals of court orders in Arthur sent a clear signal that the mayor would do everything in his power to delay or even stop desegregation from proceeding. Even more importantly, however, Grifﬁn showed no leadership when it came time to implement desegregation. Keeping the peace during several nearly unpeaceful moments was left to members of the common council, school ofﬁcials, and leaders in a number of community organizations, many of whom, like Grifﬁn, were opposed to court-ordered desegregation. So in many respects, Grifﬁn did not give priority to the school system. But when he did enter into local educational affairs, it was usually to express opposition to the entire process of court-ordered desegregation, and to the power of federal judges generally. The Grifﬁn administration’s views toward desegregation and the BPSS thus had a clear racial component, one which was present throughout his administration. Grifﬁn’s Buffalo was the Buffalo of the past, a past when steel mills and auto plants employed tens of thousands of western New Yorkers. Work on the waterfront was plentiful, and the city was a much less racially and ethnically diverse place. The changes in the city’s racial and ethnic composition during the 1960s and 1970s were the most visible of all the changes that were occurring, and, in one way or another, inﬂuenced most political discussion. Prior to Grifﬁn’s election, in Mayors Sedita and Makowski, the city had two chief executives for the better part of two decades who recognized Buffalo’s changing characteristics, seemed sympathetic to issues affecting the black community, and gradually attempted to incorporate African Americans into their coalition. A vote for Grifﬁn, however, was an act of personal and political nostalgia, a longing for what Buffalo used to be, and a questioning of what it had become. The election of Jimmy Grifﬁn was an example of a reaction which was socially acceptable to not only the white working class, but also to sufﬁcient numbers of white middle-class individuals in neighborhoods around the city. Longing for the past and a resistance to change were not conﬁned only to persons in lower-income brackets.

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Further Phases of Desegregation Shortly after Grifﬁn’s election, the parties involved with the Arthur case continued to debate the next phase of school desegregation. Phase II of the board’s plan consisted of closing four more schools, altering attendance policies at previously segregated schools, creating several more magnet schools, and expanding the QIE program. During phase II, the court also established guidelines for the racial composition of each of the elementary schools within the system.68 With the enrollment of the entire school system being roughly 50 percent white and 50 percent minority, the district court in phase II established the principle that any school with a minority composition between 25 and 65 percent was a desegregated school. But there remained ﬁfteen all minority elementary schools even after the implementation of phase II.69 This prompted Judge Curtin to issue a more sweeping, districtwide remedy for desegregating the entire BPSS in 1979.70 By issuing a districtwide remedy, the court held that desegregation measures under phase II were insufﬁcient, and ultimately placed a disproportionate burden on minority children in desegregating elementary schools. The logic of the districtwide approach was simple: since the actions of local ofﬁcials under segregation affected, either directly or indirectly, both the student and staff makeup of every school, every school necessarily had to be part of a desegregation plan. In response to the districtwide remedy decree, in November 1979, the school board submitted phase III of its desegregation plan, which further altered the QIE program, created more magnet schools, closed several more schools, and created several early childhood centers. Phase III attempted to achieve desegregation at least partially through more ﬁxed student assignments and busing. The district court shortly thereafter approved phase III,71 which prompted the plaintiffs to appeal the decision. When the issue was under consideration of the appeals court, however, the components of phase III that were acceptable to both sides were implemented by the board in the fall of 1980.72 The main argument of the plaintiffs in their appeal was that phase III was not sufﬁcient, relied too heavily on voluntary measures to bring about desegregation, and placed a disproportionately heavy burden on minority students with respect to reassignments.73 On this issue, the appellate court remanded the case in order to determine whether the plaintiffs had met the constitutional standard

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of districtwide desegregation.74 But perhaps more importantly, the appellate court also indicated that the Arthur case had gone on too long, thereby encouraging all parties involved to speed up the process of desegregating the BPSS. In response to this ruling, the board devised another plan, phase IIIx, which called for still more ﬁxed student assignments beginning in September 1981.75 Despite approving phase IIIx, however, the board sought a one year delay in the full implementation of the plan. Obviously feeling the pressure of the appellate court, Judge Curtin blocked this delay, however, arguing that the maximum amount of desegregation through the use of voluntary means, which the earlier phases of desegregation relied heavily on, had been achieved. Therefore involuntary desegregation plans should proceed immediately, beginning with the 1981 school year.76 There was concern in many quarters that the increased use of mandatory busing of white students necessitated by phase IIIx would meet with staunch resistance from white neighborhoods. There had been opposition to the idea of busing expressed by white neighborhoods for years. Opposition was especially strong in south Buffalo and the Lovejoy district. Residents of Buffalo, like people all over the country, were well aware of the violence that had erupted in Boston just a few years earlier over the issue of desegregation.77 Considering the history of racial conﬂict in Buffalo, there clearly existed the potential for some kind of rebellion against busing. But phase IIIx met with little actual organized resistance. Despite the idea of busing being very unpopular, phase IIIx was implemented in the fall of 1981 relatively smoothly. One of the main reasons for the lack of organized resistance in Buffalo to involuntary means of desegregation was, in fact, the events of Boston that had taken place between 1974 and 1976, just before the Arthur decision.78 The two cities are demographically very similar, with black minorities and many similar white ethnic populations. When a federal judge ordered the Boston schools to be desegregated,79 white neighborhoods organized against the idea, and several incidents of protest and mob violence followed. The events in Boston attracted national media attention and the whole country watched the unrest that accompanied desegregation there. Clearly everyone in Buffalo wanted to avoid this from happening in their city. Even many opponents of desegregation withheld their opposition when Arthur was ﬁrst decided and also after subsequent court rulings, including the implementation of phase IIIx in 1981.

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The ugly set of events in Boston, then, seems to have informed the actions of residents of Buffalo. Another factor which led to different outcomes in Boston and Buffalo were the obvious differences in representation between the two cities. When the Arthur decision was handed down, there was black representation on the common council and school board in Buffalo, whereas, rather remarkably, there were no black representatives on either the council or school committee in Boston. Even though African American representatives frequently voted against their white colleagues in Buffalo, the fact that there were at least some African American representatives in positions of authority changed the political environment.80 Conversely, the complete lack of black representation in Boston made it much easier for white ofﬁceholders who opposed desegregation to publicly voice their opposition. In Buffalo, while there were plenty of white ofﬁceholders opposed to the idea of desegregation, including Mayor Grifﬁn, there were none who openly challenged the decision and encouraged city residents to oppose it. Rather, a feeling developed among many opponents that despite how undesirable court-ordered desegregation was, it was more or less inevitable, and thus had to be complied with. Grifﬁn opposed the orders of the court in peaceful ways, more as methods of sending messages to the judge and to the mayor’s constituents (and implicitly to the black community). As Mayor Grifﬁn told a crowd in a white working-class neighborhood during the midst of implementing desegregation: “It is that judge over there that is making the decisions. If he says ‘bus’ there’s not a thing you or I can do about it, unfortunately.”81

The Issue of Fair Housing Comes Up Again By 1980, the African American population had reached over 26 percent. In residential terms, African Americans had made some progress, but this expansion was still limited. The 1980 census showed that blacks continued to move from the central part of the east side to the north and northeast, into the University and Fillmore districts, and also had an increased presence west of Main Street.82 While there was eastward expansion in some areas, in much of the east side further eastward movement was negligible, and south Buffalo was still basically off limits.83 So, in light of the continued discrimination that blacks faced when trying to move into certain

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parts of the city, the question of enacting a more comprehensive fair housing ordinance was again introduced in 1980. That year, the council considered an ordinance that was drawn up by three outside agencies, including Buffalo Area Metropolitan Ministries, Inc. (BAMM), Housing Opportunities Made Equal (HOME), and the Housing Division of Catholic Charities. The proposed ordinance was truly comprehensive, and like the one considered in 1968 and defeated, brought all of the housing in the city under the antidiscrimination banner. But it went even further, by also including a “private cause of action” clause allowing individuals who believed that they had been discriminated against to take alleged offenders directly to court without going through any governmental agency. While there was clearly more support for an antidiscrimination law than there had been in the late 1960s, there was still sufﬁcient opposition. For example, the Evening News editorialized against it,84 the Grifﬁn administration was on record as opposing it, and several council members found it too sweeping. As a result, the council defeated the ordinance by a vote of nine to six, with only one white member voting in favor. Among supporters of the ordinance, however, there was a belief that if changes were made to accommodate criticisms, a revised version could pass, possibly even with enough votes to override a mayoral veto which was virtually certain. Grifﬁn’s corporation counsel had already gone on record as saying that the common council did not have the authority to pass the law, and that such a law would be redundant anyway, thus echoing the very same arguments opponents had used against a similar ordinance twelve years earlier. Over the next several months, changes were made in the fair housing ordinance, the most important of which included the addition of a statement of the rights of landlords, the elimination of “record of conviction or arrest” from the previous list of protected classes, and a loophole which allowed homeowners sixty-two years or older to deny individuals housing who they believed may be disturbing. But the most important part of the law, its coverage of all owner-occupied two-family dwellings, remained intact. Accommodations were made in order to try to win over the support of more council members, and in a vote on the new ordinance several months later, in November 1980, three previously opposed council members voted in favor. All three were white, two of whom were at-large members, including future mayor, Anthony Masiello. But a nine to six vote in support was not enough to override Grifﬁn’s veto, which everyone knew was imminent, and occurred in early December.

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In his veto message, the mayor maintained that home owners who rent out space in their two-family homes “should be free from unreasonable restrictions upon the way in which they select those who are to share their premises with them.”85 In other words, the argument was fairly simple, and it was one that was heard intermittently throughout the Grifﬁn administration, the essence of which was the old adage “a man’s home is his castle.” So over ten years after the original debate about fair housing, the barriers to its passage had been reversed. Whereas the main stumbling block in 1968 was the common council itself, with Mayor Sedita expressing his support for the measure, now the mayor’s ofﬁce was the primary barrier, since enough council members had supported the fair housing ordinance for passage. Grifﬁn’s opposition to the law was a clear indication of his lack of interest in issues of concern to the African American community during the early years of his administration. It reﬂected a tone that had been established by the mayor since he began his reign. Once again, the debate about fair housing received extensive press coverage, and it was something that people all around the city were following. Although it was considered political dynamite, the issue of housing discrimination was not going to go away. Just a few changes within the membership of the council, or a new person in the mayor’s ofﬁce, could create the right combination for the passage of an antidiscrimination law. Rather than disappearing, then, the issue of fair housing was again pushed to the back burner until circumstances would be more favorable for its passage.

Conclusion The population trends that had been developing for several decades showed no signs of changing in 1980. Total population continued to decline, as the city lost over 100,000 residents during the 1970s. Western New York lost more manufacturing jobs, which substantially contributed to the city’s increasing ﬁscal problems. Suburban growth continued in some areas, but Erie County began losing population during the 1970s, with an aggregate decline of slightly under 100,000 residents. Similar to many metropolitan areas of the industrial northeast and midwest, western New York had begun to lose population, primarily at the expense of the growth that was occurring in southern and western areas of the United States.

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While the African American community was making some progress, the best example of which was the Arthur decision itself, the white exodus from the lower and middle east side that had begun several decades earlier was essentially complete, making this area approximately 88 percent African American by 1980. This process further isolated African Americans, especially those of lower income. And this area of the city continued to lose population, with a total decrease of slightly over forty thousand residents, threequarters of whom were African American, between 1970 and 1980.86 Whites continued to move to the suburbs, which very few blacks were able to do,87 so African American migration remained almost exclusively into a few other city neighborhoods. Crime and poverty continued to accompany the demographic trends discussed above, as parts of the east side consistently had the highest rates of both.88 The poverty that was apparent in the 1970 census increased by 1980. The poverty rate for African Americans in the city was slightly over 36 percent, and the poverty rate throughout much of the east side was much higher than the rest of the city, reaching as high as 50 percent in some areas. While there were some stable black working and middle-class areas, such as the Hamlin Park and Cold Springs neighborhoods, poverty was still a major problem on the east side. The loss of population, increasing rates of poverty, and the persistent problem of crime were all clear indications of the increasing social isolation of sections of the east side. The housing discrimination that had existed for decades, including the segregation of public housing, in conjunction with the segregation of schools, and the failure of the city to pass a comprehensive fair housing ordinance, had only solidiﬁed the idea in people’s minds that much of the east side was strictly for blacks, while many other neighborhoods were for whites. This notion was reinforced by the actions of Mayor Grifﬁn. By 1980, however, one did not have to look at the census or refer to any studies to determine what was happening in much of the east side. One just had to enter the poorest areas and look around. Whereas the lack of inﬂuence of the city’s blacks had directly contributed to many of the policies that created the conditions within much of the east side, being a resident there now meant that one necessarily lacked power, especially during the Grifﬁn administration. The distribution of power had shaped the evolution of the city’s neighborhoods, and the conditions of the neighborhoods had, in turn, shaped the distribution of power in that one’s life chances growing up in the poorest neighborhoods

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were sharply limited. Crime had become the main issue for debate, within the mainstream press as well as among many residents. People from outside this area, especially whites, avoided much of the east side at all costs. Something of a paradox accompanied the political and demographic trends discussed above. On the one hand, blacks had gradually achieved some degree of political inﬂuence, and moved into a few other areas of the city. So when one talked about the issues that affected the African American community, one could no longer automatically equate those issues with a small section of the east side. But when one talked about the near east side, since the area had become overwhelmingly black, one necessarily was talking about issues that affected almost exclusively African American individuals. In other words, black politics was not exactly synonymous with east side politics, but near east side politics was black politics. Thus African Americans who had begun to live in other neighborhoods were not necessarily as dependent upon the political and economic inﬂuence of black leaders. But residents of the poorest sections of the east side, which were made up almost entirely of African American residents, were still quite dependent upon the inﬂuence of African Americans in positions of power, and any sympathetic whites. Such a dynamic creates somewhat of a schism between the interests of the black middle class and the black poor, and makes the plight of African Americans living in poverty that much more difﬁcult. This schism, however, should not be overemphasized. As I have pointed out, black migration occurred into adjacent neighborhoods, and did not occur much at all in several neighborhoods or in the suburbs. The city was, despite some black residential movement, still very much segregated. But the poorest blocks did experience an out-migration of both blacks as well as most of the few remaining whites, leaving many very low-income persons living in the immediate vicinity of primarily other very low-income persons. The upshot of these demographic changes was that one had to look more closely at the relationship between the politics of both race and place, which in previous decades had been essentially synonymous, when evaluating local decision-making and its effects. In what turned out to be a rather uneventful election, Mayor Grifﬁn was easily reelected in 1981 with his only opponent being a common council member running on the Liberal ticket. But Grifﬁn’s reelection with no real opposition ought not be interpreted as a sign of his overwhelming popularity, because he was very

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unpopular in certain segments of the electorate. His detractors, however, had little in common with one another, and their desire to form a coalition to defeat the sitting mayor was questionable. Despite Grifﬁn’s easy reelection, in the years that followed there was anything but consensus within city government. Grifﬁn’s conﬂicts with the common council frequently erupted into open hostility. The larger conﬂict between downtown and the neighborhoods became a consistent theme, with council members often criticizing the mayor for his neglect of many residential areas. Issues related to race and housing continued to be particularly sensitive. The Grifﬁn administration’s handling of the BMHA, as well as its persistent opposition to fair housing, became critical issues for debate.

8 Nostalgia and Confrontation: The Grifﬁn Years

Chapter 8 discusses some of the events from the early 1980s through the early 1990s, during Mayor Grifﬁn’s second, third, and fourth terms in ofﬁce. It also addresses the context of the 1993 election of Mayor Anthony Masiello. Grifﬁn came to power during a time of major upheaval. Buffalo’s decline, in terms of both job and population loss, was peaking, both of which contributed to the city’s ongoing ﬁscal problems. The differences between the city and nearly all of the surrounding suburbs had become very pronounced. But despite these circumstances, initially there was some optimism about what Mayor Grifﬁn could do for the city. The Evening News, which still had daily competition when Grifﬁn was ﬁrst elected, was generally kind to the mayor at the beginning of his administration. Grifﬁn was, after all, an excellent story. He was colorful, and frequently even offensive. There was no telling what the mayor might say on any given day, which generated constant media interest.1 But as time went on, Grifﬁn’s confrontational nature took center stage, and many of his public remarks reﬂected a deep suspicion rather than genuine attempts at humor. Further, changes in national urban policy, stemming from the Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) program in 1974, increased the possibilities for confrontation. Because of greater discretion that local governments had under the CDBG program, conﬂicts about competing priorities were virtually inevitable. Grifﬁn’s favoring of downtown at the expense of many residential neighborhoods became the basis of extended conﬂict between him and the common council throughout the remainder of his administration. The debate about priorities was not simply a ﬁscal debate, which pitted neighborhood interests against downtown in perpetual competition for a shrinking ﬁnancial pie, however. Certainly bud-

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getary constraints were a major factor in political discussion. But there were important policy debates during the Grifﬁn administration in which ﬁscal questions were secondary, and sometimes nearly irrelevant. Many of these debates, primarily those involving housing, continued to cause a tremendous amount of conﬂict and controversy as race was the central underlying issue. The segregation of several neighborhoods had become more apparent, and the living conditions in the lowest income areas of the city, exacerbated by further population loss, had become increasingly difﬁcult. With substantially less federal monies going to cities and a less than sympathetic mayor, the prospect of physically improving ghetto areas was clearly a daunting task. Thus a good deal of attention turned to options that were ﬁnancially possible and focused on equalizing access to the entire city for all individuals. The BMHA remained one of the main arenas for many of the debates involving housing and neighborhoods, and it is a subject to which we now once again turn.

The BMHA During the Grifﬁn Administration Probably the longest running problem related to Buffalo’s neighborhoods during the Grifﬁn administration was the management and administrative practices of the BMHA. Unlike the school board, which no longer was appointed by the mayor, the housing authority was still very much under the control of the administration through the appointment of ﬁve of seven board members and all of the authority’s top administrative employees. Although the BMHA was originally intended to be an independent agency when it was created in the 1930s, it never really functioned independent from city hall. And as we have seen, there had been a large racial component to the authority’s decision-making since its inception. Under the Grifﬁn administration, BMHA discriminatory policies continued, the best evidence of which was the living conditions at several predominantly African American projects, and the continued segregation of almost all authority housing. By the late 1970s, living conditions at many of the predominantly African American apartments, especially Ellicott Mall, Douglass Towers, Commodore Perry, and Kensington Heights, had become increasingly bad, which was one of the fundamental causes of their high vacancy rates. One of the authority’s largest developments, Kensington Heights, located in the central part of the east

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side, was roughly 92 percent minority and had an alarming 65 percent vacancy rate in 1980.2 With such a high vacancy rate, the BMHA decided to close Kensington Heights all together later that year. That same year, vacancy rates had reached 76 and 71 percent at Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers respectively, both of which were still rigidly segregated.3 Other developments on the east side, while not having nearly the high vacancy rates of Ellicott and Douglass, were also strictly segregated according to race. For example, the rates of black occupancy at Ferry Grider, Lang Field, Kenﬁeld, Commodore Perry/ Extension, and Price Courts (formerly Willert Park) were 95, 76, 81, 90, and 100 percent African American respectively.4 What further complicated the situation was the fact that not only was the majority of BMHA housing segregated according to race, but within the group of apartments that had the highest numbers of African American residents, there was a substantial amount of segregation according to age as well. Elderly blacks were concentrated in three of nine predominantly black projects, leaving the remaining six with negligible numbers of elderly residents.5 While in some respects this arrangement made sense, it also clearly created an artiﬁcial living situation for residents at several developments in that it prevented many children from having any exposure to older individuals who could possibly serve as role models, thus inhibited an intergenerational process which would normally take place in most residential neighborhoods. While many of the apartments remained segregated, the living conditions became a major problem at a few apartments in particular, notably Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers. The problems actually began at Ellicott and Douglass during the late 1960s and early 1970s, when the issue of the living conditions at the apartments began to receive extensive media attention. Tenants generally blamed the BMHA for poor management practices, while others, though usually indirectly, essentially blamed the tenants for creating their own poor living conditions. While the debate about the developments was very emotional, touching on fundamental views about race and poverty, there were several facts that must be considered which provide context necessary to interpret what exactly happened at Ellicott and Douglass, and could perhaps speak to the fate of large-scale public housing developments in other cities as well.6 First of all, many basic services were denied to residents of Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers. For example, elevator repair

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companies, television and appliance repair companies, telephone service providers, and milk delivery companies openly refused to do business at the apartments. As conditions worsened at the developments, mail delivery was the only service residents could depend on. So residents began to move out of both of the developments, which created escalating vacancy rates. But there was another basic reason for increasing vacancy rates—the refusal of the BMHA to place whites into either of the developments, in conjunction with keeping several other public housing developments all African American. Thus while residents were moving out at a fairly rapid rate, the problem was only compounded by the BMHA’s tenant placement policies, which eventually became one issue in a wideranging lawsuit ﬁled several years later. As a result of what was happening at the apartments, then, beginning in the late 1970s, several proposals were issued to address the problems that had developed at Ellicott and Douglass. Plans to overhaul Ellicott Mall began when it still had occupants. One rather elaborate renovation plan, which took ﬁve years to complete, called for the conversion of existing vacant housing and the addition of recreational facilities, but was rejected as early as 1980 by HUD because of its $60 million cost. With conditions worsening and vacancy rates increasing, the BMHA decided to completely empty Ellicott Mall in 1981. And in the following years, vacancy rates at Douglass Towers continued to increase, so that by 1984 ﬁve of the development’s twelve buildings were completely vacant. The remaining buildings at Douglass remained open for residents, however, while city, state, and federal ofﬁcials debated seemingly countless proposals to address the future of both developments. Renovation plans for the vacant Ellicott Mall were stepped up again in 1984. And for a short time anyway, it looked as if the common council and the BMHA were on the same page on the issue. In late December 1984, the council unanimously approved a new plan for redeveloping all of the vacant buildings at Ellicott Mall, including conversion of two of the buildings into 132 units of housing for the elderly, construction of 187 town house units in three locations near the Mall, and an agreement to arrange for other developers for the other six buildings in the complex. The plan was put together by the same architectural ﬁrm that had drawn up the one rejected a few years earlier, and it was basically a smaller version of the earlier plan. The new plan for Ellicott Mall had been approved by the BMHA and the city’s urban renewal

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agency, also heavily inﬂuenced by the administration through appointments. So it looked as if Mayor Grifﬁn and a majority of the council were, despite their differences, working in sync on a viable plan for Ellicott Mall. But as 1985 progressed, there were no developers found for the remaining six buildings, and the plan that had been approved was still in limbo with the federal government. The situation was similar to what had developed in the 1960s during the original conﬂict over a developer for the Ellicott district, except this time the effect of inaction was vacant buildings as opposed to vacant land. The irony of course was that Grifﬁn represented the Ellicott district on the council during the debate over developers which took place in the early 1960s. At any rate, as a result of continued disputes, the eight buildings that made up the apartments stood empty, and generated increasing press coverage. Further, since both Ellicott and Douglass were two of the city’s projects that had been built by New York State, state housing ofﬁcials also had to approve any renovation or redevelopment plan. So the plan that looked fairly bright for bringing life to Ellicott Mall just one year earlier was now being held up, with little sign of advancement in the immediate future. With no developer in sight, the Grifﬁn administration and the BMHA began to push for the demolition of all of the existing eight buildings of Ellicott Mall and to replace them with low-rise housing units. But approval by the council was necessary for such an action, and the ﬁrst time the issue was brought before it, the common council voted it down by an eight to ﬁve margin. Federal housing ofﬁcials also rejected the BMHA plan, in large part because of the fact that it called for using the monies for constructing housing not on the actual site of the Ellicott towers. HUD ofﬁcials also began to express ﬁnancial concerns about the entire project, noting speciﬁcally that the BMHA had yet to determine a method of paying off the New York State bonds used for the development’s initial construction. Ellicott Councilman James Pitts, in whose district the apartments were located, led the charge against demolition. He consistently reminded the public about what had happened to housing in his district in the past: “It’s the same as 1950, when the urban renewal plan and promises were made. . . . They have no intention of following through with this. . . . If we vote to tear down Ellicott Mall, we vote to destroy housing in the area.” 7 Pitts’ remarks showed a clear sense of the history of his district, a history which almost

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always gets overshadowed by subjects such as drugs and violent crime during discussions of ghetto redevelopment and public housing. As we have seen, promises were made for housing in the Ellicott district in the late 1950s, but because of a partisan clash between an almost entirely white, predominantly Democratic council and a Republican mayor, the only housing that was ever built for a number of years was two huge public housing complexes. As time went on, the Grifﬁn administration’s intention to demolish Ellicott Mall only seemed to harden. Several months later, in August 1986, the BMHA again unanimously voted to seek federal funds to raze all of Ellicott’s eight buildings and replace them with 125 units of low-rise housing. Councilman Pitts and a majority of other members, however, remained opposed to demolition, and continued to argue instead for the possibility of renovation. Once again, in September 1986, the common council voted down the BMHA proposal to raze all of Ellicott Mall’s buildings, but this time an agreement of sorts was reached. The council and BMHA agreed to work together to develop a plan suitable to both sides. It had become very clear to both sides of the debate that the impasse would continue unless some kind of joint planning session was initiated. Shortly thereafter, members of the council and BMHA met, and reached agreement on several key points. They included the need to redevelop land adjacent to the Ellicott Mall site that was under BMHA jurisdiction as part of an overall redevelopment plan, the need to initiate redevelopment of the Mall and nearby areas in phases so as to maximize the possibility of receiving state and federal funds for the project, the need for city and BMHA ofﬁcials to present their case to state and federal ofﬁcials together as a show of unity on the project, and the intention to contact as many community groups as possible who might have a potential use for any of the eight buildings. While Councilman Pitts repeated his opposition to demolishing all eight buildings, he also maintained that he would not be opposed to razing some of the towers, provided that there was a guarantee that housing would be built in their place. By the end of 1986, it looked as if some kind of progress was being made on the project to rebuild the Ellicott Mall area. During the same time as the controversy over Ellicott Mall, a prolonged discussion began over the future of Douglass Towers. In 1987, with ﬁve of the development’s twelve buildings completely vacant, and the remaining seven sparsely populated with roughly

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six hundred residents, all of whom were minority, New York State subsidized $1.8 million worth of improvements to Douglass, the majority of which was earmarked for elevator repair and construction. Each of the towers only had one elevator, which, if inoperative, created great inconvenience for tenants. But not long after the state funds were allocated for repairs at Douglass, conditions there also became the subject of debate. Under pressure from several local sources, New York State began to look more closely at what was happening at Douglass. Early in 1989, in an incident that received extensive attention by the Buffalo News, the state housing commissioner threatened the BMHA with legal or ﬁnancial penalties if the authority did not devise a plan to renovate Douglass Towers. New York State proposed that over $2 million of state monies be combined with over $2 million of BMHA monies in a substantial rehabilitation of the towers, and suggested that renovating all twelve buildings should be a long-term goal. The BMHA, however, under the obstinate leadership of Executive Director Lawrence Grisanti, a close crony of Grifﬁn, objected to renovating Douglass, claiming that regulations prohibited BMHA reserve funds from being used for renovation, and that high-rise apartments were unsuitable for family living in the ﬁrst place. The BMHA also claimed that the state’s criticism may have been politically motivated, since 1989 was a mayoral election year, and Grifﬁn’s lack of enthusiasm for New York Governor Mario Cuomo was no secret. In any case, the debates focusing on both of the apartment complexes demonstrated Grifﬁn’s lack of interest in housing when it came to the black community, especially lower income African Americans. It revealed the isolation that residents of many public housing developments had been experiencing for quite some time. In light of continued inaction, New York gave the BMHA an ultimatum to either make the commitment to renovations at Douglass Towers and Ferry Grider Homes (the other state development with tenants), or the BMHA would be declared in violation of its loan and subsidy agreement with the state. Such a declaration could have led the state to revoke the annual subsidy to the BMHA, and possibly demand that the city pay back over $20 million in loans immediately. The pressure was simply too much, and the BMHA gave in, ultimately accepting a deal in July 1989 which called for New York to spend $5.2 million and the authority to spend $3.1 million on work at the two developments, the majority of which would be spent at Douglass.

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During discussions about the future of Douglass Towers, the debate over Ellicott Mall intensiﬁed. But the common council was not the only player opposing demolition of the apartments. The area’s main business publication, Business First, also advocated renovating the apartments: Buffalo must not tear down Ellicott Mall. The public housing project’s eight empty towers stand as a cruel symbol of everything that went wrong with the social planning of the 1950s and 1960s. Yet their solid construction and proximity to downtown make them a promising resource for Buffalo’s future.8 While clearly the use of the term “social planning” demonstrated an obvious free market bias, thus a lack of interest in examining why things went wrong at the apartments, the general point made by Business First was a good one, and one that was often forgotten. Both Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers were very close to downtown, within walking distance. And with service sector jobs downtown, the location of the apartments was ideal for anybody seeking relatively easy access to employment. The magazine’s position contrasted with the editorial position of the News on the issue, which wavered between uncertainty and advocating demolition. By the time the debate heated up over both Ellicott and Douglass, the News seemed much more interested in simply going after the Grifﬁn administration for its own sake as opposed to participating in any meaningful debate on the policies it was covering. But aside from the mayor, another major stumbling block remained for those advocating the renovation of Ellicott Mall. During the 1980s, something approaching a consensus developed about highrise public housing in the United States. While conservatives had criticized government-sponsored housing for decades, the problems that emerged during the 1970s and 1980s in high-rise complexes in numerous cities led even many liberals to believe that they were not a suitable living situation for families. Some cities began to demolish their public housing, and such events were touted as evidence of ofﬁcial recognition that high-rise public housing was a government sponsored failure.9 There can be no doubt that there were problems at Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers. When we look carefully at what happened to Ellicott and Douglass, however, several issues deserve mention, all of which place the history of the apartments in a different light. First, as discussed above, residents had a difﬁcult time getting basic services provided. Moreover, basic maintenance and

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management of BMHA housing were not a priority of the Grifﬁn administration, which only hastened the decline of several developments. In addition, the conditions of the wider neighborhood are also an issue that needs to be considered. There was a lengthy period of time when the two huge apartment complexes sat in near isolation while the city bickered over the developer of the thirty-six square-block renewal area which each of the apartments was adjacent to. From the time they were constructed, Ellicott and Douglass were never in an actual neighborhood, if we use the term neighborhood in a literal way, implying a place with residents, services, and so forth, within immediate proximity. And while not far from the central business district, there was also a clear spatial differentiation between the two apartment complexes and downtown, which set them both, but especially Douglass, apart from the everyday activity associated with downtown itself. Further, the racial segregation of Ellicott and Douglass (and of almost all of the other developments managed by the BMHA for that matter) made the situation worse in many respects. Considering the substantially higher rates of unemployment and poverty for blacks, simple logic dictated that if all the African Americans who applied for public housing were put into the same developments, then those developments would necessarily have higher rates of unemployment and poverty. The BMHA kept developments, even small ones located in white neighborhoods of the west side and north Buffalo, predominantly if not entirely white, and the several east side developments almost completely African American. So rather than simply looking at the physical conditions and residential populations of apartments such as Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers, and drawing conclusions about the causes of their deterioration, one has to consider the history of the apartments, including the history of the BMHA, and of the neighborhood in which they were located in order to fully understand their fate. In the middle 1980s, with many problems still unresolved at the authority, a mayoral election approached, one in which for the ﬁrst time an African American received the endorsement of the Erie County Democratic organization to challenge Mayor Grifﬁn.

The Election of 1985 By 1985, the problems at the BMHA had become the subject of substantial debate. While the ﬁrst several years of school desegregation

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had proceeded smoothly, its success was clearly not due to the actions of the Grifﬁn administration. The mayor’s dislike of not only court-ordered desegregation but of the public school system generally had become evident. He appealed many of the orders handed down by Judge Curtin in the Arthur case, thus contributing further to the conﬂict between city government and the court.10 Further, during his ﬁrst two terms, Mayor Grifﬁn had gradually alienated most common council members, and increased his sharp verbal attacks against the press. Grifﬁn’s personality had become a major issue. Numerous public remarks illustrated his reputation as someone who could not be reasoned with, and the local media picked up on a good many of them. His public remarks, while occasionally humorous, often degenerated into personal insults—of council members, people in the press, or virtually anybody who challenged his authority. In response to the negative political environment that had developed during the ﬁrst several years of the Grifﬁn administration and the mayor’s lack of interest in addressing issues of concern to many neighborhoods, particularly African American east side neighborhoods, Common Council President George K. Arthur came forward to challenge Grifﬁn in the 1985 Democratic mayoral primary. In many respects, Arthur was the exact opposite of Grifﬁn. He was well liked and personable, which contrasted directly with Grifﬁn’s pugnacious personality. Arthur represented the Ellicott district and been an at-large member on the council before becoming council president in 1983. His Democratic credentials allowed him to win the endorsement of the Erie County Democratic organization in the primary. While certainly not an automatic sign of eventual victory, the endorsement was signiﬁcant, as it was the ﬁrst time that an African American had ever received it. While Grifﬁn’s partisan afﬁliation had, for many years, been all over the map, his political leanings seemed to be growing more conservative. His public admiration for President Reagan and refusal to appear with the Democratic candidates for president and vice president, Walter Mondale and Geraldine Ferraro, during their 1984 campaign stop in Buffalo, coupled with his strained relationships with Governor Cuomo and Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan all indicated that Grifﬁn had slowly become a Republican not only in occasional afﬁliation but also in spirit. The Democratic endorsement, along with Arthur’s likeable personality and expressed desire to address issues neglected by the Grifﬁn administration were reasons to believe that Arthur had the

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ability to appeal to many white voters, something that Eve lacked in the 1977 election. The theme that had crystalized during Grifﬁn’s second term was the conﬂict between residential neighborhoods and downtown. Arthur attempted to make the subject of competing priorities one of his major campaign issues during the primary by frequently criticizing the mayor for paying attention to downtown at the expense of the neighborhoods, particularly African American neighborhoods, even on such everyday issues such as maintenance of streets and snow removal. The city had seen one of the worst blizzards in its history earlier in 1985, and Arthur criticized Grifﬁn for having no comprehensive plan in the event of such a storm. More than just closing schools and other public agencies, a major snow storm in western New York can prevent people all over the region from going to work for several days. Regarding the issue of snow removal, Arthur tried to tap in to the widespread resentment that had developed in response to what probably became Grifﬁn’s most famous remark ever. During the blizzard of 1985, in the midst of a public debate about developing an effective snow removal plan, the mayor was asked for his thoughts on what city residents should expect in the event of another major winter storm. The mayor encouraged Buffalonians to “[s]tay inside, grab a sixpack, and watch a good football game.”11 Grifﬁn’s ﬂippant remark was symbolic of what increasing numbers of people perceived as his true demeanor, which frequently came across as arrogant and teetering on demagogical. The primary election shaped up as it had in 1977. Arthur won the three-way primary, which also included a little-known college professor, by carrying ﬁve of nine council districts, including Ellicott, Masten, Fillmore, Delaware, and University. Grifﬁn carried the remaining four—Lovejoy, North, Niagara, and South. Arthur received over 52 percent of the total primary vote, while Grifﬁn received slightly over 45 percent. So, like 1977, Grifﬁn lost the Democratic primary to an African American candidate, but positioned himself to run in other parties in the general election, including the Republican, Conservative, and the Right-to-Life parties. In the general election, again the major underlying policy issue was that of downtown versus the neighborhoods. Grifﬁn had the backing of the downtown business community, including the Chamber of Commerce. Plans were well underway for the new downtown baseball stadium, which was one of the mayor’s biggest priorities. Despite his populist rhetoric, he had developed very close ties to the banking and business community, most notably Gold Dome

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Bank, whose chairman was also the chairman of the local Chamber of Commerce during the 1985 campaign. Arthur tried to make the obvious contradiction between Grifﬁn’s outward style and comments, and his real political ties an issue, but it did not resonate with enough white voters to make much of a difference. Up until shortly before the election, the Grifﬁn campaign had outspent Arthur by nearly a two to one margin, indicating that the mayor’s friendliness to powerful ﬁnancial interests had indeed paid off.12 Arthur also tried to make Grifﬁn’s temper an issue in the election, and in doing so forced Grifﬁn to publicly defend his personality. There can be no doubt that Grifﬁn’s temper was often a serious problem. His clashes with the common council had become routine, his public insults of individual council members frequent and unrelenting. But when it came down to election day, Grifﬁn’s temper did not make much of a difference. Those who were put off by his personality and temper would not have voted for him in the ﬁrst place, so the issue could not swing the necessary number of white voters toward Arthur. In the end, Grifﬁn carried enough votes to defeat Arthur by roughly a 10 percent margin, capturing 53 percent of the vote as compared to Arthur’s 43 percent, with another minor party candidate receiving the remaining 4 percent. Grifﬁn won ﬁve of nine council districts, including North, Niagara, Delaware, Lovejoy, and South, and Arthur carried the remaining four—Ellicott, Masten, Fillmore, and University. Several observations can be made that illustrate that race was the major factor in Grifﬁn’s reelection of 1985. The most obvious evidence pointing to the signiﬁcance of race, and the insigniﬁcance of party labels, is the simple fact that Grifﬁn ran and won on the Republican, Conservative, and Right-to-Life tickets in a city that had over 136,000 registered Democrats and just under 38,000 registered Republicans. The fact that Democrats so outnumbered Republicans shows that yet again a large number of registered Democrats were willing to cross over and vote for Grifﬁn in another party instead of supporting an African American candidate. A large number of Grifﬁn supporters shared a general worldview similar to the mayor’s, and agreed on many basic principles, including opposition to court-ordered desegregation, public housing, and open housing, as well as support for downtown development. Despite his nonconfrontational style and the endorsement of the Democratic establishment, simply being African American made large numbers of possible swing voters, especially white middle-class moderates and liberals, perceive Arthur’s candidacy

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as a threat to established ways of life. Yet Grifﬁn’s support was also rooted in a variety of social and cultural issues, and his positions on crime, homosexuality, and abortion became well known. Even though the mayor could not directly affect public policies regarding abortion or homosexuality, he could represent conservative views on these issues, and use the mayor’s ofﬁce as a bully pulpit to take positions on them whenever he saw ﬁt. His supporters looked to the mayor in the hope of preserving the Buffalo that was gradually fading away. In combination with preferential service delivery for the neighborhoods which supported the mayor, it is no surprise that he went on to defeat Arthur in the general election in 1985. As a result of Grifﬁn’s many conﬂicts with common council members, on several occasions the mayor sponsored challengers in races against sitting council members—in primaries and general elections—almost all of whom lost to incumbents. The situation in 1985 was no different, with Grifﬁn-backed candidates losing to incumbents in two council races. Jimmy Grifﬁn did not have short coattails, he had no coattails at all. That so many Grifﬁn-backed council candidates lost underscores the idea that the mayor’s popularity was rooted in his supporters’ admiration of him personally. Thus it was Grifﬁn’s personality and style, and his nostalgic presence, from which certain policy positions inevitably ﬂowed, that attracted the majority of his followers. In sum, the 1985 mayoral election again illustrated that political parties were secondary at best in the minds of most voters, and race remained the largest explanatory factor in elections for the city’s highest ofﬁce.

Discrimination in the Private Housing Market Housing discrimination comes in a variety of forms, one of which is mortgage discrimination, which also became the subject of increased discussion during the Grifﬁn years. In light of the city’s failure to pass the fair housing ordinance again in 1980, many looked to the banking and real estate industries as a main source of continued residential segregation. For example, one study, released by the U.S. Senate Banking Committee in January 1980, found that it was almost twice as difﬁcult to get a mortgage in Buffalo’s African American neighborhoods as it was in white neighborhoods.13 Speciﬁcally, only ﬁve mortgages were granted for every one hundred homes in black neighborhoods as compared to slightly over nine that were granted

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for every one hundred homes in white neighborhoods. But the study also found that residents in Buffalo’s older white neighborhoods (those neighborhoods where the housing stock was more than twenty-eight years old) also suffered from mortgage discrimination, illustrating class as well as racial discrimination in the housing market. Thus older neighborhoods, both black and white, were being regularly discriminated against in lending practices, which could only have negative effects on those neighborhoods. When lending agencies engage in this form of discrimination, the process of neighborhood decline becomes self-fulﬁlling. The Senate study also found similar patterns of housing discrimination in the other two cities it examined, Chicago and San Diego, illustrating that the problem of mortgage discrimination was not limited to any one region of the country. A similar study, released by HUD in April 1980, was based on a survey of the lending practices of banks in twenty-ﬁve metropolitan areas in New York and California. The study looked at almost 1,500 loan applications to commercial banks in Erie and Niagara Counties between May 1977 and October 1978, and almost 7,500 applications to mutual savings banks in the two counties between May 1976 and October 1977. It found evidence of redlining in nine of the twenty-ﬁve study areas, most of which were located in Buffalo’s inner city neighborhoods. The “adjustments” commonly made by lending institutions found in the study included the under appraising of property, which reduced the overall amount available for a loan, and the imposition of harsher mortgage terms. Such practices only reinforced the need for nondiscriminatory housing policy aimed at allowing all individuals to be able to buy or rent housing anywhere they could afford in order to avoid being trapped within the boundaries of a redlined neighborhood. The housing studies also vividly illustrated the close connections between spatial and economic isolation in that speciﬁc neighborhoods were routinely discriminated against by the real estate industry, which only hastened their economic decline. These studies contributed to further debate on the subject of housing, and led to increased criticism of the Grifﬁn administration’s housing policies, including sharpened attacks on the BMHA.

Continuing Problems at the BMHA During Mayor Grifﬁn’s third term, questions regarding the fate of Ellicott Mall and Douglass Towers persisted. The issue of

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the segregation of numerous other BMHA apartments also became a major subject for discussion. The problems at the BMHA led New York Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan to look more closely into the matter in 1987. In November of that year, Moynihan traveled to Buffalo to hold a public hearing on the problems at the BMHA. Several people testiﬁed at the hearing, most of whom discussed problems such as project segregation, poor living conditions at several of the developments, and the authority’s employee record under the Grifﬁn administration. The testimony that was probably the most instructive at the public hearing was provided by Scott Gehl, the executive director of Housing Opportunities Made Equal (HOME). HOME had been closely monitoring the situation at the BMHA for several years, therefore could attest to the many problems at the authority in detail. Gehl’s written testimony contained a substantial amount of information, most of which documented various demographic facts about occupancy within BMHA developments.14 Probably the most obvious problem at the BMHA was the authority’s continued segregation of almost all of its developments. As pointed out by Gehl, according to the BMHA’s own occupancy data, in 1986, nine of the twenty-six developments were at least 92 percent white, four of which were 100 percent white, while nine others were at least 90 percent minority.15 But segregated housing is not simply a problem of African Americans and whites not living together. Rather, considering the preexisting inequality between whites and minorities, segregated housing necessarily limits the life chances of blacks by isolating them geographically, and, in turn, contributing directly to further discrimination. As Gehl accurately pointed out in his testimony: Segregation in public housing does more than limit housing choices—thereby limiting access to education, employment, culture, recreation and public services. It works at cross purposes with the City’s efforts to implement the school desegregation plan. Additionally, the fact that government apparently discriminates in public housing—and gets away with it—telegraphs an unambiguous message to private landlords who may themselves be inclined to discriminate.16 In a comprehensive study of housing discrimination, scholar John Yinger has echoed a similar point: “Segregation is not simply an incidental outcome of the discriminatory system but is, in fact, a

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key reason why discrimination is so hard to eliminate—an outcome that becomes a cause.”17 Another important point brought out in the hearings was the very high vacancy rates at many BMHA developments. With regard to this issue, there existed an obvious contradiction in BMHA policies. While there were roughly four thousand persons on the waiting list for admission to public housing, there were also approximately two thousand vacant units in all of the authority’s housing combined.18 Such a glaring inconsistency pointed to the fact that the BMHA was keeping separate waiting lists for particular developments, thus deliberately segregating them. The problems brought out by Senator Moynihan’s hearings and by HUD inquiries led to a U.S. Senate report on the BMHA, which was released in March 1988.19 The Senate report delineated the recent history of the problems at the BMHA, and highlighted points brought out in a HUD investigation initiated in 1987. The report was quite critical not only of the BMHA, but also of HUD. One of the speciﬁc criticisms of the BMHA spelled out in the report was the fact that BMHA ofﬁcials had consistently refused to appear at common council hearings, appearing only when under subpoena.20 Since ﬁve of its seven board members and all of its top administrative employees were Grifﬁn appointees, such resistance by the BMHA could only be interpreted as the Grifﬁn administration’s disinterest in cooperating. The report also went on to criticize the Grifﬁn administration for its hiring practices at the authority, which unambiguously discriminated against African Americans.21 The authority had always been one of the heaviest sources of the mayor’s patronage. But the Senate report was also quite critical of HUD’s Buffalo area ofﬁce for not monitoring the situation at the BMHA more closely. For example, HUD’s Buffalo ofﬁce conducted twentyﬁve reviews of the BMHA between December 1980 and September 1987. In two of these reviews, it was discovered that tenants were permitted to specify in which development they wanted to live, and that the authority was requiring that all single tenants be at least forty-ﬁve years old. Both of these practices were violations of HUD regulations.22 In spite of these known violations, HUD’s Buffalo ofﬁce did nothing until it was under pressure from Congress to act. ln early 1989, HUD Secretary Jack Kemp, aware of the many problems at the BMHA, came under pressure to take some kind of action. The investigation of the BMHA was initiated as a result of pressure from the common council, Senator Moynihan, and com-

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munity members. Kemp, former Buffalo Bills quarterback and congressman from western New York, is a local hero, thus certainly not in a position to avoid the issue. Accordingly, only ﬁve months after taking ofﬁce as secretary, Kemp took one step toward addressing the problems at the BMHA. In April 1989, he declared that the BMHA had discriminated against minority tenants in violation of the 1964 Civil Rights Act, and ordered the authority to change its policies in order to comply with existing law. HUD had ordered the authority to change its admission procedures just two years earlier, but little had changed in the racial composition of BMHA housing since that time. But Kemp’s order did not have any immediate impact either, which led to the ﬁling of a federal law suit, Comer v. Kemp,23 in December 1989, over four decades after the Urban League’s original battles with the BMHA. Comer v. Kemp The Comer case, ﬁled by Neighborhood Legal Services of Buffalo, the Greater Upstate Law Project, and the NAACP Legal Defense Fund, was wide-ranging. It challenged the polices and practices of HUD, two local section 8 administrators, the BMHA, and the New York State Division of Housing and Community Renewal (DHCR). The main issues in the case were the segregation of public housing, substantial differences in the living conditions at predominantly white and predominantly black projects, and disparities in the section 8 housing program which allegedly channeled black recipients of the subsidy to city housing while white recipients were steered to the suburbs. Comer was complicated because of the numerous alleged violations that were spelled out by the plaintiffs. One of the allegations was the exclusion of public housing residents from section 8 housing programs. Under federal regulations, section 8 subsidies must be given to residents who are either living in substandard housing already, paying more than 50 percent of their income for rent, or involuntarily displaced from their housing accommodations. Despite the fact that many residents of housing managed by the authority fell into one or more of these categories, all residents of BMHA housing were as a matter of policy denied section 8 vouchers. Plaintiffs in Comer argued that all public housing residents should not be categorically denied section 8 vouchers because to do so would “lock minorities into public housing, and deny them the chance to move into better neighborhoods.”24

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The plaintiffs had important legal precedent as well as practical results on their side, including the famous Gautreaux case.25 After many years of litigation, in 1976 the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the plaintiffs in a case ﬁled against the Chicago Housing Authority and HUD regarding discriminatory tenant and project placement, and also found in favor of a metropolitanwide remedy. As a result of the Court’s decision, the Gautreaux program was established, and in its ﬁrst several years assisted approximately 5,600 families in ﬁnding housing, about half of whom went to the suburbs.26 Participants in the program who moved to the suburbs were more likely to have a job, higher wages, and higher educational achievement than those individuals who remained in the city.27 The results of the Gautreaux program, then, illustrated that moving individuals out of a segregated environment can have important effects on their lives, which certainly lent credibility to the arguments of those, such as the plaintiffs in Comer, who advocated the desegregation of public housing. The problem with Comer, however, was the image of public housing that had developed by the time the case was initiated. Over the course of decades, the public had gradually accepted, with little hesitation, the notion that public housing was where only very low income people lived, most of whom were African American. Long gone were the days of the 1930s, 40s, and 50s, when the city boasted about its numerous public housing developments, and both daily papers frequently ran stories touting the success of government-built housing in Buffalo. Whereas segregated schools had an inherently immoral element that even many opposing desegregation would grudgingly admit, the segregation of public housing simply did not resonate with enough people to make it a salient issue for debate. The predominantly (and in some instances entirely) African American housing developments were located in almost exclusively black neighborhoods, and therefore their segregation did not become an issue which many people in other neighborhoods seemed to care much about. Thus it was unlikely that Comer could spark much wider debate about discrimination more generally. But the lack of saliency of the issue of public housing segregation, and the many problems related to living conditions that accompanied it, should not minimize its importance as a civil rights issue. And ﬁling a lawsuit was one of the most effective, though timeconsuming, methods of addressing discrimination at the BMHA,

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one which did not depend on either public opinion or the Grifﬁn administration, so litigation in the case proceeded beginning in 1989.

Another Try at Fair Housing Nineteen eighty-nine also brought another attempt by fair housing advocates to enact a comprehensive local ordinance prohibiting discrimination in housing. Racial segregation in private housing persisted primarily in two forms—continuing segregation within the city’s neighborhoods, and discrimination against African Americans who tried to move to the suburbs. While some might argue that racial residential patterns often reﬂect personal preference, as scholar Joe Darden has pointed out, a number of different studies have in fact shown that African Americans prefer to live in nonsegregated neighborhoods.28 The racial patterns becoming more evident in many of the city’s neighborhoods, therefore, cannot be assumed to be the result of a housing market in which all individuals were able to exercise freedom of choice. Cases of reported housing discrimination increased in Buffalo during the 1980s. For example, HOME received three times as many reported incidents of housing discrimination in 1987 than in 1981.29 In addition, a survey undertaken by the University at Buffalo in 1988 found that one in twelve families in western New York had experienced housing discrimination at least one time.30 Despite the residential progress that had been made by African Americans, housing discrimination was undeniably still a major problem in Buffalo and western New York. Since its failed passage in 1980, more whites had become receptive to the idea of a fair housing ordinance, but stiff opposition remained, especially in a few neighborhoods. The far east side, south Buffalo, and parts of north Buffalo and the west side remained almost exclusively white communities and were staunchly opposed to the ordinance.31 As discussed earlier, the amount of property containing two-family houses (the housing exempted from state and federal antidiscrimination law), is substantial, constituting a sizeable percentage of the city. And the connections between housing and access to other amenities, such as jobs, recreation, and so forth, were becoming more evident as disparities among neighborhoods widened. The proposed fair housing ordinance, while similar to measures that had been defeated before, did contain a few important

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differences. Two categories were added to the list of protected classes—lawful source of income, and sexual orientation. The former of these classes was included to address discrimination against welfare recipients. Public assistance is, of course, lawful income, but nonetheless recipients are frequently victims of discrimination in housing. The latter of the two classes was designed to attack housing discrimination faced by homosexuals, which was also an issue of concern to fair housing advocates. Once again, the proposed ordinance received a signiﬁcant amount of public attention, particularly for an action of the common council. Grifﬁn’s opposition to the proposal remained unambiguous. The council held a public hearing on the issue, and the mayor’s ofﬁce countered by having its own hearing. The questions surrounding the proposal were the same as they had always been in the debate over fair housing, yet there was a slightly new spin on the debate in 1989. Some proponents of the bill, most notably Councilman James Pitts, argued that discrimination is a barrier to investment, and thus the enactment of the antidiscrimination ordinance would create a better environment for housing investors, and thereby improve the city’s reputation regionally and nationally. Opponents argued just the opposite—that such an ordinance would make prospective investors look elsewhere, given the many legal issues that would be associated with investing in property in the city of Buffalo. A number of organized groups, mostly religious and civic organizations, lined up on behalf of the proposed ordinance, indicating the support of a modest variety of religious and ethnic communities. And the Buffalo News, which had vacillated on the fair housing issue over the years, also gave the proposed measure a solid editorial endorsement.32 But once again, white neighborhood opposition remained staunch, making prospects for passage challenging and shaping a public debate which became bitterly divisive. After hearings and debate, Grifﬁn’s corporation counsel, not surprisingly, declared the proposed ordinance illegal, by arguing that the council did not have the power to eliminate an exemption that had been speciﬁcally included in a state law—namely, the twofamily, owner-occupied exemption that had been the subject of so much debate over the years. But the council had enough votes for passage, and the ordinance passed by a seven to ﬁve vote on February 7, 1989, with two white members in support, one of whom represented the North district. The seven to ﬁve margin, however, was not enough to override the mayor’s veto, which came on

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February 21. In the interim, pressure was so strong that two council members actually switched their votes—one of whom was an African American member from the racially diverse University district—thus did not support the override. As it had been in the past, the fair housing debate was heated and passionate, and continued to symbolize a city’s ongoing struggle to come to terms with the many changes it had undergone. Race was still at the heart of neighborhood political conﬂict, and in light of the intense opposition of some white neighborhoods, residential location remained a method of successfully using political power.

Grifﬁn’s Last Victory Nineteen eighty-nine was also another mayoral election year. By that time, Grifﬁn had been in ofﬁce for three terms, and had made enemies of most of the common council. Two candidates emerged as challengers to the mayor in the September primary— Assemblyman William Hoyt and former Chief City Court Judge and Common Councilman Wilbur Trammell. Hoyt, who was white, received the Democratic endorsement. But given the party’s lack of inﬂuence in mayoral elections in the past, the endorsement was not all that signiﬁcant. Trammell, an African American, was not as well known as previous black mayoral candidates Eve or Arthur, and considering their lack of success, from the outset Trammell’s chances were not considered very good. The black population in the city had grown during the 1980s, but not dramatically, by increasing from just over 26 percent in 1980 to approximately 30 percent in 1990. In racial terms the electorate was not radically different than it had been in Grifﬁn’s previous elections, making it an uphill battle for Trammell. The issues were basically the same ones that had been discussed for several years—the conﬂict between downtown and the neighborhoods, and Grifﬁn’s personality and outlook. The mayor had given downtown much of his attention during his second and third terms, the best evidence of which was the construction of Pilot Field. Plans had begun for a new downtown baseball stadium in the early 1980s, and Grifﬁn pushed fervently for the project to go forward. The city was in dire ﬁscal condition, however, so funding for the new stadium was the project’s biggest challenge. Mayor Grifﬁn effectively lobbied the state, and convinced the Cuomo administration to introduce a bill into the state legislature which

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allocated $22.5 million for the new stadium in February 1985. Constructing a new baseball stadium seemed to be one of the only things that Grifﬁn and Cuomo agreed on, and the fact that both men were avid baseball fans certainly helped to push the project along.33 Once the state had agreed to allocate the money for the stadium, in July 1985, the common council voted eleven to two to issue bonds to ﬁnance the project.34 The ground breaking took place in July 1986, and the ofﬁcial opening of the park occurred in the spring of 1988. The argument for having the stadium seemed to be as much about the notion that baseball simply belonged in Buffalo as much as it was about economic development, as the underlying feeling of reminiscence again permeated the entire discussion. The issue was not that numerous council members and neighborhood groups opposed the stadium. Rather, what many on the council were arguing, and what both of Grifﬁn’s opponents in the 1989 primary maintained, was that the amount of time and energy the mayor put into the stadium simply reﬂected his priorities and his lack of interest in addressing many of the basic needs of the neighborhoods, especially African American neighborhoods. The fundamental problem that Hoyt and Trammell had to overcome in the primary, however, was the fact that Grifﬁn had been in ofﬁce for so long that the city’s voters had formed opinions about him long before the election of 1989. His temperament and style were so well known that it was unlikely that anyone would change their mind about the mayor at this point. The main hope of either Hoyt or Trammell defeating Grifﬁn in the primary, or having a chance in the general election, therefore, depended on getting a large turnout among their supporters. But turnout in the primary was simply not high enough, especially for Trammell. Grifﬁn won the primary, mainly by getting his supporters to the polls in large numbers. The mayor received 41 percent of the total vote, with Trammell getting 36 percent and Hoyt receiving a rather dismal 23 percent. The breakdown of the voting patterns around the city was fairly predictable, with Grifﬁn winning in North, Niagara, Lovejoy, and South; Trammell winning in Ellicott, Masten, University, and Fillmore; and Hoyt only winning in his home Delaware district. After the primary, although having the endorsement of the Liberal party in the general election, Hoyt stopped campaigning. Trammell attempted to get on the ballot on an independent party line, but was denied because of defects in his petitions. The resulting set of circumstances in the general election was rather odd. Hoyt, who had withdrawn from

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the race, appeared on the ballot on the Liberal party line, and Trammell, who was not on the ballot, conducted a write-in campaign. Because of the lack of serious competition, turnout in the general election was extremely low, with only 37 percent of registered voters going to the polls. Turnout was especially low among the African American community, with rates of 19 and 26 percent in the Masten and Ellicott districts respectively. Running on the Democratic, Republican, and Right-to-Life tickets, Grifﬁn was the easy victor, by receiving roughly 74 percent of the vote, with the other two candidates splitting the remaining 26 percent. Trammell actually managed to get over seven thousand votes as a write-in candidate, a mildly impressive feat for someone not appearing on the ballot. Hoyt received over nine thousand votes, which was also not too bad for a candidate afﬁliated with a minor party who did not campaign. Again, rather than indicating any sort of overwhelming popularity on the part of the mayor, the important story about the 1989 election seemed to be frustration, the best evidence of which was the extremely low turnout. A substantial percentage of the antiGrifﬁn vote, without its own candidate in a major party, stayed home on election day. A three-way primary left Grifﬁn’s opponents too divided to unite in a campaign against the mayor. Once again, white liberals and African Americans did not attempt to form a coalition to defeat Grifﬁn. Analysts had long talked about the most likely method of defeating Grifﬁn would be to have one, formidable candidate challenge the mayor, a candidate who was able to unite at least a good portion of the opposition, while also appealing to some of Grifﬁn’s base. In 1989, however, such a scenario did not occur, which left Grifﬁn with a fourth term. As Grifﬁn’s fourth term began, the implementation of school desegregation proceeded rather smoothly, and continued to receive praise.35 There were several indications, among both minority students as well as the entire school population, of improved student performance under desegregation.36 For instance, the dropout rate among African Americans between 1987 and 1993 hovered around the 4–5 percent range, down substantially from what it had been under segregation.37 Moreover, the dropout rate for all students in the BPSS had also decreased to roughly 5 percent.38 Standardized test scores among elementary school students also improved, with reading and math achievement test scores for third and sixth graders increasing measurably between the 1975–76 and 1987–88 school years.39 While not literally a performance indicator but certainly

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related to student performance, attendance rates also improved during desegregation. By 1988 the BPSS enjoyed the highest student attendance rate for any large urban district in New York.40 Although these indicators cannot necessarily be linked to desegregation in particular, their existence still points to the fact that there were tangible beneﬁts accompanying court-ordered desegregation. Also during the beginning of Grifﬁn’s fourth term, Pilot Field was open, and drawing large crowds on a regular basis, indicating a modest revival of at least part of the downtown area. But the demographic trends that had begun decades earlier continued, including consistent population loss, increasing rates of poverty, and an increasing African American population. Population loss had slowed somewhat, with city being only 8.3 percent smaller in 1990 than it had been in 1980.41 The problem of poverty worsened, however, particularly in the lower and middle sections of the east side, which were still about 90 percent black and possessed a higher percentage of people living in poverty in 1990 than ten years earlier.42 Residents continued to leave the poorest locations, but because of continued problems of residential segregation, many of which were emphasized again during the fair housing debate in 1989, African Americans generally did not move that far away, but rather into adjacent neighborhoods. And the suburban expansion of the African American residential population was still very much limited, with over 84 percent of all African Americans in Erie County in 1990 still residing in Buffalo. The Latino population also increased, and while still small, had reached approximately 5 percent of total city population, making the city more diverse than it had ever been. The segregation of the African American community, particularly in the lowest income neighborhoods where crime and other problems were more prevalent, continued to be a barrier to opportunity for individuals living in those neighborhoods. After several decades of gradual change, much of the east side had become a place which white Buffalonians never entered. Though any city resident knows that there are numerous types of neighborhoods, in the minds of much of the public, especially suburbanites, two completely separate places had evolved over time within the same city— ghetto neighborhoods and everyplace else. Whites’ fear of the ghetto was the ﬂip side of the nostalgia that put Grifﬁn in ofﬁce. Implicit in the longings for the past that the mayor and his supporters frequently engaged in was a yearning for the days when the city was more homogenous. One way for white neighborhoods to hold on to the past was to keep African American residents out of their

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neighborhoods, and to completely avoid going into African American neighborhoods.

The End of the Grifﬁn Era In 1991, Mayor Grifﬁn tried to climb the political ladder further by running for Erie county executive. After being soundly beaten by incumbent Dennis Gorski in the September Democratic primary by roughly a 38 percent margin, Grifﬁn ran on the Republican and Right-to-Life parties in the general election. But the mayor was again defeated handily, as Gorski received 61 percent of the vote. Signiﬁcantly, Gorski defeated the mayor in the total city vote by receiving over 20,000 more votes than Grifﬁn. The county executive defeated Grifﬁn in eight of the city’s nine council districts, including three which had always been Grifﬁn strongholds in mayoral elections—North, Lovejoy, and Niagara—illustrating that pro-Grifﬁn sentiment was not carved in stone. Grifﬁn was only able to win in his home neighborhood, the South district. Gorski was reasonably well liked, and of Polish extraction, which has for several decades been a tremendous advantage for anyone seeking elected ofﬁce in many parts of Buffalo and Erie County. The county executive was able to appeal to many who had supported Grifﬁn in the past, in addition to constituencies Grifﬁn consistently alienated, including the African American community. Grifﬁn’s loss, particularly in the city, proved what many political observers had long argued—that a well qualiﬁed candidate could defeat the mayor in a one-on-one contest. Grifﬁn’s loss in the county executive race seemed to spell the beginning of the end for the mayor. After the election, many began to speculate whether Grifﬁn would decide to seek a ﬁfth term as mayor. The press hammered away at this question, but throughout 1992 Grifﬁn was publicly silent about his future intentions. Then in 1993 Grifﬁn decided to not seek reelection, in large part because of the emergence of a candidate who many believed was just the one to defeat Grifﬁn and become the new mayor, State Senator and former Common Council member Anthony Masiello. With Grifﬁn not running for reelection in 1993, Masiello went on to easily win the Democratic primary and general election, capturing 68 percent of the vote against Republican and Conservative challengers in November. Similar to Mayor Sedita, Masiello had the ability to appeal to different constituencies, including the African American community. Masiello’s election was the dawning of a new era for

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Buffalo politics, one which was embraced by many with the hope that the new mayor would at least attempt to provide the leadership necessary to begin to address many of the city’s serious concerns. Mayoral leadership sets the tone for a city, and from the beginning of his administration, the tone set by Mayor Masiello has been signiﬁcantly different than under Grifﬁn. Unlike Mayor Grifﬁn, who frequently seemed mainly interested in maintaining his own power, Mayor Masiello, who is often referred to as a cheerleader for the city, consistently appears to be someone whose main concern is the state of the city. Whereas Grifﬁn was steeped in the past, often referring to how things were done in the old ﬁrst ward, Masiello talks constantly about the present and the future. And while the Grifﬁn administration saw change as basically something to be skeptical of, Masiello talks of the city’s diversity, which of course is a result of fundamental change, as being one of its main strengths. When reﬂecting on Grifﬁn’s reign, it is easy to see why Masiello has gone out of his way to help create a constructive political environment, which thus far he has succeeded in doing. Before one minimizes the effects of leadership style as being primarily symbolic, one has to keep certain facts in mind.43 As we have seen, there are several very low-income residential areas in Buffalo. But there are also numerous parts of the city that appear to be teetering on the edge of becoming low-income areas. Small business owners and working and middle-class residents in numerous neighborhoods, most of which are located on east and west sides, each day face the decision of whether to stay in the city, or, as so many others have done over the last several decades, move to the suburbs. If a mayor can help shape an environment in which individuals and business owners will be more likely to decide that remaining in the city is worthwhile because their block and neighborhood are still viable places, then the mayor has performed a critically important role. It is difﬁcult to neatly separate perception from reality when looking at why individuals choose to leave neighborhoods, or leave the city all together for that matter. To be sure, crime, unemployment, and poverty are very much real phenomena. But perceptions also drive many people’s assessments about neighborhood conditions, therefore directly shape their decisions about where to live. There is a large self-fulﬁlling component to neighborhood decline: people perceive their neighborhood to be deteriorating, so they begin to leave, and then, after population loss, and increased vacancy

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rates, which can contribute to crime and other social problems, the neighborhood has objectively declined. Mayors and other political and community leaders can, through their words and everyday actions, help people perceive that their neighborhood is still a decent place to live, which can encourage residents to stay, thus actually help make their neighborhood a decent place to live. There are seemingly countless residents in Buffalo today struggling with just such a decision about whether to remain in the city, which only speaks to the critical need for a particular style of mayoral leadership, a style which Masiello seems to relish practicing. While the election of Mayor Masiello in 1993 was the beginning of the end of the Grifﬁn era, the common council elections of 1995 further solidiﬁed the ending of the Grifﬁn years. That year, four new members were elected to the council, including two women and the city’s ﬁrst Latino council member ever, elected from the Niagara district. The common council was the most diverse one ever elected, which ﬁt well with the post-Grifﬁn mood that was developing. Nineteen ninety-ﬁve also brought the ofﬁcial end of the school desegregation case. The implementation of desegregation continued throughout the latter part of the 1980s and early 90s, and by 1995 the goals that had been set out by Judge Curtin several years earlier had, for the most part, been met, thus ending the district court’s nearly twenty-year monitoring of the BPSS. Although not everyone was pleased with the termination of the district court’s involvement in the case, the peaceful desegregation of the city’s schools, along with the improvement of the quality of the school system, is, justiﬁably, a source of pride for those involved. One year later, in 1996, the Comer case was settled.44 A number of proposals had been issued over the years related to the tenant placement policies of the BMHA while Comer was in litigation. The BMHA made some attempts to comply with certain directives in order to create a desegregated public housing program. In 1991, HUD began to formally propose various plans to integrate BMHA housing, some of which involved relocating a large number of tenants, many of whom were elderly. Such plans were greeted less than enthusiastically by many tenants who opposed the idea of moving out of apartments that they had lived in for as many as ten or ﬁfteen years or more. The idea advocated by HUD was the same in principle as the major goal of the school desegregation case—to have the racial composition of each of the developments roughly reﬂect the racial composition of all of the authority’s housing.

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There was substantial opposition to HUD proposals from other sources as well, including almost the entire common council, which prompted a reconsideration of the issue. Later in 1991, a new plan for integration was issued by HUD, which was received more favorably because of its reliance on more voluntary measures of tenant relocation as well as revised admission policies aimed at creating more integrated housing. But the Comer case involved a number of issues aside from the actual desegregation of BMHA housing, so litigation continued throughout the early 1990s, with a settlement ﬁnally being reached in 1996. The major provisions of the settlement, under which none of the parties involved admitted liability, included modiﬁed tenant selection and admission procedures for new admissions and transfers aimed at creating more integrated public housing, density reduction and redevelopment at several of the BMHA developments in order to improve their physical condition, and the initiation of metropolitanwide fair housing initiatives, including a community housing center. As one comprehensive recent study has shown, public housing remains segregated in cities all over the country.45 But similar to the Arthur case, the Comer settlement was both a legal and moral victory, achieved outside the electoral arena, which was driven by the goal of equalizing opportunity for all individuals. And after many years of debate and frustration, the middle 1990s also brought the beginning of the renovation of Ellicott Mall. Advocates of preserving the apartments were proven correct as two of its eight buildings were completely renovated, with the assistance of New York State funds, and populated beginning in late 1994. Saving the buildings clearly made a difference, and the renovated buildings have provided decent, affordable housing for many, and are adjacent to areas which have also been the site of new housing construction in recent years. Considering the history of Ellicott Mall, it is difﬁcult to imagine any private developers, even if given substantial incentives, carrying through any redevelopment of the apartments, thus the project became the successful product of both local and state government institutions in partnership with private sector developers.46

Grifﬁn Comes Out of Retirement In 1996, in a move that surprised even many who were long familiar with his unconventional style, Jimmy Grifﬁn entered the

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New Hampshire Democratic primary for president of the United States. Since leaving ofﬁce, rumors about a possible political comeback for Grifﬁn were frequently bandied about, with speculation about the former mayor running for the common council, state ofﬁce, or possibly another try at the city’s highest ofﬁce. Once Grifﬁn found out that becoming a candidate in the New Hampshire presidential primary was relatively easy, however, only costing $1,000 and requiring no signatures, and when no well known Democrats emerged to challenge President Clinton, Grifﬁn decided to begin his political comeback at the highest level, and ofﬁcially entered the primary. He traveled to the granite state in the days before the primary to campaign, and used some of his funds for radio advertising there as well. Aside from publicity, it was not exactly clear why Grifﬁn entered the primary. He would obviously get few votes, and he was not passionately taking on any single issue like many renegade candidates do. In the end, Grifﬁn somehow managed to get 278 votes in the primary, and in so doing, found a way to receive local media attention during the early years of his retirement. And then on May 13, 1997, while standing on a vacant lot in a lower income area of the Fillmore district, Grifﬁn came out of retirement again and declared himself a candidate in the Democratic mayoral primary against the incumbent Masiello. Needing an issue, Grifﬁn began to focus his attention on a new cityimposed garbage user fee late in 1996, participating in several public demonstrations against the fee in the months leading up to his candidacy. In front of live television, Grifﬁn read word-forword from a prepared text since public speaking was never his strong suit. The former mayor echoed the themes of gloom and doom, mentioning things that most local residents would prefer to leave in the past, ranging from the layoffs of thousands of workers at Bethlehem Steel in the early 1970s, to the murder of a city police ofﬁcer earlier in 1997. Grifﬁn’s message was that the city was going to hell in a hand basket, and the reason was the lack of leadership at city hall. Because of the extreme negativity of his message, he sounded increasingly like the demagogue that many of his critics had labeled him over the years. Grifﬁn had almost become a caricature of himself, once again embodying an image of the past which he hoped could return him to the mayor’s ofﬁce. Not long after Grifﬁn’s announcement came word from Common Council President James Pitts that he too would oppose

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Masiello in the Democratic primary. Masiello’s reelection chances, which only a short time before seemed guaranteed, all of a sudden appeared to be in jeopardy as he faced two popular challengers within his own party. With Pitts, the most senior African American elected ofﬁcial in city hall in the race, many began to speculate about the obvious similarities between 1997 and two previous elections, 1977 and 1985, in which African American candidates defeated white candidates in the Democratic primary, and created a three-way race in the general election. But from the beginning of his administration, Masiello had worked hard to reconnect alienated constituencies with city hall, most notably the African American community. Indeed, as a longtime state senator with many African American constituents, Masiello began his reign as mayor with fairly solid ties to the black community, which made it much easier for him to bring blacks into his governing coalition. From top administrative posts on down, employment patterns under the Masiello administration began to reﬂect the diversity of the city itself, which created a striking difference between his and the Grifﬁn administration. Further, Masiello had worked hard to make basic service delivery uniform and consistent across all of the city’s neighborhoods, which also contributed to the mayor’s relative popularity. Even against a well known African American candidate, therefore, Masiello would likely receive at least some support from the black community in his quest for reelection, which, in a three-way primary, could be enough to make him victorious. In theory, the primary had the makings of a meaningful race, but it never became competitive. Grifﬁn’s anti-garbage fee issue did not resonate with much of the electorate, thus his campaign never gained any momentum. With the high percentage of African American primary voters, and without having the advantages of incumbency, Grifﬁn was in a position where he essentially had to cultivate black support. Aware of this, at his ofﬁcial announcement for candidacy, the former mayor was introduced by a Roman Catholic priest and an African American minister. Grifﬁn frequently criticized the Masiello administration during the campaign as being a “small group of white men,” which, given his record on issues of importance to the African American community, was the height of irony. It was obvious, however, that Grifﬁn did not feel comfortable making appeals to the black community. When asked by a local newspaper about the issue of racial tension in the city, Grifﬁn’s true colors came out:

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When my Irish ancestors came to this great nation in the 1800s, they were depicted in newspaper cartoons as baboons. Stores and businesses would post signs “no Irishmen need apply” when advertising for workers. They fought prejudice and won because of their strong religious beliefs, strong family ties and a willingness to take any job available.47 A completely uneventful television debate only solidiﬁed Masiello’s strong reelection chances. Despite polls which showed him getting near 60 percent of the vote, the primary turned out to be much closer than many imagined, however, with Masiello receiving 43 percent, Pitts 31 percent, and Grifﬁn 26 percent. Signiﬁcantly, even against a black challenger, Masiello received approximately 33 percent of the vote in the Masten district, which is well over 90 percent African American, illustrating his broad base of appeal. Grifﬁn won only in his home neighborhood, the South district. Despite losing the primary, both Grifﬁn and Pitts secured third party lines on the November ballot, and Masiello managed to get the Republican party endorsement as well. The result was a general election that resembled past elections, with popular candidates appearing under a variety of party labels—Pitts on the Liberal line, Grifﬁn on the Right-to-Life line, Masiello on both Democratic and Republican lines as well as two minor party lines, and a Conservative party candidate in the race as well. The ﬁnal tally of the election of 1997, which only produced about a 40 percent turnout, gave Masiello 59 percent of the vote, with Grifﬁn and Pitts getting 23 percent and 16 percent respectively. Two things stand out about the election results. First, the support that Masiello received from the African American community was impressive. The mayor won roughly 57 percent of the vote in the Masten district, and returns from Ellicott, University, and Fillmore also suggest that he had measurable support from black voters. Second, the overall level of support Grifﬁn got was unexpectedly high at 23 percent, indicating that a signiﬁcant percentage of Buffalonians had fond memories of the former mayor and were willing to give him another try. The 1997 common council elections were fairly predictable. All but two incumbents running for reelection won. The most signiﬁcant primary occurred in the South district. The central issue became

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the possibility of some residents of the Commodore Perry apartments, located in the old ﬁrst ward, moving into an apartment complex in south Buffalo which was approximately 50 percent vacant through the use of housing vouchers in the event that more buildings at Perry were demolished. Despite being discussed publicly in terms of the possibility of increased crime, it was evident that racial fear was once again driving south Buffalo political debate. With the heaviest turnout of all the council districts, incumbent Bonnie Lockwood lost in the primary, largely because of her opponent’s staunch opposition to the relocation of the Perry residents.

Conclusion The conclusion of the Arthur and Comer cases, although celebrated by many, still served as painful reminders of the discriminatory past, however, in which local policies directly shaped the formation of segregated ghetto neighborhoods on the east side in which poverty rates were high and social problems prevalent. The social isolation of poor neighborhoods was also reinforced by the construction of a light rail line which was completed during the 1980s. The line, running underneath Main Street, connected downtown with the south UB campus located at the northern edge of the city. The original plan for the rail line, as drawn up by the Niagara Frontier Regional Planning Board, however, called for extensions to be built into suburban areas, most notably a connection to the north UB campus in Amherst. Such an extensive rail system certainly would have beneﬁted lower income urban residents in that it would have provided easy access to the growing number of jobs located in the suburbs. Numerous objections and delays caused the project to be substantially scaled back, and the ﬁnal product became relatively modest. Similar to the highway construction of the 1950s and 60s, the construction of the rail line in the 1980s shaped emerging economic patterns, and increased the stark differences between the city and the suburbs. But when reﬂecting upon the elections of 1993, 1995, and 1997, the future of the city was beginning to look brighter. Without a doubt, the Masiello administration was a step in the right direction for Buffalo. After sixteen years of a mayor whose entire outlook was rooted in the past, Masiello’s election was a refreshing change. Bringing more economic opportunity to Buffalo was going

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to be a difﬁcult task, and was either directly or indirectly the subject of almost all political discussion. There was every indication, however, that a more representative and responsive group of city leaders were in power, a group that was more inclined to face the city’s numerous problems with an eye toward the future.

9 Conclusions

Public policies that have most affected the development of Buffalo’s residential neighborhoods over the last several decades have been primarily structured around race. Residential location has been central to political debate and conﬂict, and has been a method of exercising political power. The city made a critically important decision when neighborhood after neighborhood successfully kept the original Willert Park extension out in the furious debate over public housing in 1941–42. While the residential options of the rather small black population were rigidly limited prior to the conﬂict, the siting of the development constituted the ﬁrst major decision by local government about where African Americans would live. Once all the original public housing developments were segregated, similar decisions followed regarding public and private housing, and the school system. These policies were products of a political climate in which white neighborhoods knew that sufﬁcient antiintegration sentiment could successfully be translated into local policy. Existing economic discrimination only became reinforced when the black community was prevented from moving into much of the city and suburbs. And bitter political conﬂicts involving race caused race relations to worsen. The social isolation, thus limited opportunity, of lower income neighborhoods has been produced, in part, by the local decisionmaking process while also contributing to that same process. Continuing segregation has reinforced the distribution of power in that once African Americans were segregated in much of the east side, unequal power relations were reinforced. Because of segregation, neighborhoods are an integral part of the ongoing distribution of community power, while also being constant reminders of past power arrangements. To a large degree, then, the characteristics of a city’s neighborhoods today reﬂect the way that power has been distributed in the past, and continue to matter in how decisions are made

213

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today. Urban scholar John Mollenkopf has made a similar argument about the ongoing relationship between politics and places: “Places certainly result from past choices and conﬂicts, but they also constrain and encourage future choices and conﬂicts, thus imparting a distinct pattern to historical development.”1 There are some advantages to the geographic concentration of any group, the most obvious of which is to make it easier for that group to elect representatives. High concentrations of African Americans in Buffalo’s Ellicott and Masten districts have allowed them to consistently elect African Americans to the common council for several decades now. But this advantage scarcely outweighs the costs that have accompanied persistent residential segregation. Moreover, had blacks been able to move more freely into other areas, African Americans could have come to constitute a simple majority in several districts rather than being the overwhelming majority in only two districts, and even more African Americans could have been elected to the council as a result. So while geographic concentration allows African Americans to more easily elect representatives, higher levels of integration can bestow even greater tangible political beneﬁts on the black community. The social isolation of the African American community that was reinforced by the public housing decisions of the 1930s and 40s persisted because of several policies that followed involving public and private housing and the school system. As we have seen, substantially higher than average unemployment and poverty rates accompanied a number of housing decisions, which clearly illustrates the African American community’s lack of adequate connection to the opportunity structure. Although social phenomena such as crime should not be overlooked in discussions of concentrated urban poverty, crime did not develop in a vacuum, but rather emerged within the context of segregation, unemployment, poverty, and increasingly difﬁcult neighborhood conditions. The development of geographically concentrated poverty has also had a profound impact on local political development, most clearly evident in the election and sixteen-year reign of Mayor James Grifﬁn. Although being a softer version of a wave of white, socially conservative politicians that swept many northeastern and midwestern cities in the 1960s and 70s, Grifﬁn’s popularity was unquestionably related to the fact that he personiﬁed the past, and implicitly promised to return to it. Always latent and occasionally explicit in Grifﬁn’s socially and culturally conservative message was the idea that hard work and determination were necessary for

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success in this world, with the implied corollary that those who were not successful—African American residents of east side ghettos, for instance—had mainly themselves to blame. The fact that for decades African Americans had been the victims of blatant discrimination in housing, employment, and education was forgotten in the Grifﬁn message, which was replete with references to the glorious past and the many social and cultural problems of the present. In other words, the Grifﬁn phenomenon encouraged a mindset which essentially ignored current racial inequality, and, in the process, basically refused to consider past discrimination as a causal factor in producing present-day conditions. While the Grifﬁn years were a clear setback for African Americans, the political progress of the black community has been signiﬁcant, though not sufﬁcient to eliminate the effects of decades of discrimination. Mayor Masiello has successfully put together a biracial coalition, but the increased political standing of African Americans has yielded limited beneﬁts because of continuing differences in policy preferences between whites and blacks, who remain an electoral minority. Residential integration is not the only solution to the problems of concentrated poverty, but neither is it an entirely distinct alternative to community development policies, which stress the rehabilitation of lower-income neighborhoods with improvements in housing and economic activity. Residential integration and community development can be viewed as two sides of the same coin. Community development initiatives remain absolutely essential when one considers some simple facts. As we have seen in detail, Buffalo has suffered tremendous population loss over the last several decades: the city once had just under 600,000 residents, but now is home for just over 300,000 individuals. And the loss of population drives many of the problems that the city faces every day. For a variety of reasons, the lowest income neighborhoods have been hit the hardest by this depopulation. During the period in which population has declined, the city’s boundaries have not changed, therefore there is much unused land in several locations around the city, especially in the most distressed areas. The vast amount of vacant land and countless empty buildings in low-income neighborhoods cannot help but color the psychological disposition of persons living in these neighborhoods, especially young people. More so perhaps even than crime, large areas of unused land in the middle of a city sends an unambiguous signal to those who live nearby that there is something very wrong

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with their community. Indeed, the lack of people, buildings, and activity in general is the most immediately striking characteristic of the lowest income areas. Depopulation and its attendant effects have an undeniably negative effect on the functioning of local democracy in that when the lowest income areas in a city come to be viewed as beyond hope, they cease to play an important role in political discussion, except when the discussion involves crime. This process necessarily undermines local democratic processes because each of a city’s neighborhoods is a component of a democratic system, and when any one or more neighborhoods are, even implicitly, left out of meaningful political debate, then local democracy itself is inherently ﬂawed. So concentrating primarily on initiatives aimed at moving people out of the lowest income areas which have already suffered the most from population loss is not a strategy that is advisable. To take this approach would be akin to abandoning the ideal of local democracy. Rather, we must work to create an environment in which all individuals can freely choose where to live and to locate their businesses. Integration and community development should ideally reinforce the broader goal of stabilizing the population of neighborhoods, and, in turn, working toward creating a more democratic local political system in which every neighborhood is a full partner.2 The regionalization approach to urban problems has been discussed extensively in recent years, largely as a result of the publication of David Rusk’s Cities Without Suburbs in 1993. While popular discussion of the subject of regionalism tends to focus on the current ﬁnancial problems of cities, Rusk’s work is not simply an argument about city revenues and expenditures. As the author states at the very beginning of his book: “America’s real urban problem is the racial and economic segregation that has created an underclass in many of America’s major urban areas.”3 Both policy and academic discussion about regionalism, then, must begin with the recognition that the problem of concentrated urban poverty stands as the central challenge for urban policy-makers today, and that it is at the heart of many of the problems cities currently face.

A Perspective on the Community Power Debate In arguing that race has been central to the politics of Buffalo over the last several decades, I take an approach to the study of

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community power that is distinct from traditional elite theory, and all of its contemporary variants, including regime theory. Elites have in fact dominated development in the city’s central business district, a fact which Grifﬁn’s critics frequently pointed out during the administration of the allegedly populist mayor. Regime theory, which aims at uncovering the informal arrangements between private elites and government, is an effective tool for determining how development policy takes shape while also placing the appropriate emphasis on the critical role of political leadership. But neither traditional elite theory nor regime theory can account for the development of the contemporary ghetto. For while downtown and other major development policy is often devised out of public view, voters and their elected and appointed ofﬁcials have had a signiﬁcant impact on the development of residential neighborhoods. Pluralist theory, I suggest, continues to be viable in certain respects in that it provides a group basis for the study of politics. Race and ethnicity, either explicitly or implicitly, drive much local political debate, especially those issues which affect residential neighborhood life. Within a community that is segregated according to race, all local service providing and land use decisions, from the most mundane ones, such as how to deploy a ﬁnite number of snow plows or building inspectors, to larger development or redevelopment decisions, will be intimately connected to the variable of race.4 This inevitable consequence of racially determined living patterns illustrates the inextricable connection of the factors of race and location. Placing equal emphasis on both of these variables, then, provides a variation of pluralist methodology which can more fully consider the issue of neighborhood change and development. While the group basis of politics posited by pluralism is certainly useful, the interpretation of historical events employed in pluralist analysis fails to concede that local decision-making affecting residential neighborhoods has been primarily driven by racial discrimination and fear. Many of Dahl’s critics, following the work of Bachrach and Baratz, however, focused on the pluralist method’s neglect of the inﬂuence of economic power on the local political system. While these critiques have been articulated in a variety of ways,5 they all tend to emphasize the relationship between economic power and local politics. The notion that certain issues are routinely kept off the political agenda by private elites is beyond dispute. Economic power is obviously a key built-in advantage that must be taken into account in any evaluation of political inﬂuence.

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However, there have been numerous policies which, rather than being kept off the political agenda, have been at the very core of political debate, and have had a signiﬁcant impact on neighborhood development. In the case of Buffalo, elites manifestly did not engineer the segregation of public housing in the 1930s and 40s, the segregation of schools beginning in the 1950s, extended delays in urban renewal in the 1960s, neighborhood opposition to open housing beginning in the 1960s, or the election of a backwardlooking mayor in the 1970s. The underlying force in these issues was race and racial attitudes, and almost all speciﬁc policies that were adopted (or in some cases not adopted) related to these issues were born amid substantial, frequently contentious, public debate. Admittedly, elites often went along with these decisions, and in some cases took actions which had the effect of reinforcing them. But the racism and fear exhibited by white neighborhoods was the prime mover in these events, and, more often than not, local ofﬁcials acted under the pressure of their constituents to make decisions which had the tangible effect of segregating and isolating the African American community. The historical evidence leads to one inevitable conclusion: had white neighborhoods not put such intense pressure on local ofﬁcials, then many, if not all, of the decisions discussed in this book would have turned out differently. This does not necessarily mean that government ofﬁcials were more enlightened in their racial attitudes than their constituents, but only that they were responding to the pressure of white neighborhoods, pressure which was often overwhelming. Plainly, then, many important neighborhood issues have not been kept off the agenda by economic elites. A better understanding of the relationship between policy choices and residential neighborhood development therefore requires consideration of forces other than those of private power. As I suggested in the introductory chapter, two policy realms exist in urban politics—one centered around downtown development and driven by regimes of economic elites and elected ofﬁcials, and another which primarily involves residential neighborhoods and their elected and appointed ofﬁcials. While these two realms do not operate wholly independently from one another, each has a logic of its own, and this recognition needs to inform empirical analysis. As Todd Swanstrom has suggested: “Arguably, the primary source of conﬂict in urban politics today is not class or even ethnicity but race.”6 With the exception of the study of biracial coalitions, however, a lack of attention to race is evident in much of the recent

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academic literature in urban politics. For example, in a volume containing a variety of essays on the state of research in the ﬁeld of urban politics, many perspectives are discussed and debated, including one devoted solely to gender, but neither race nor ethnicity is the focus of any of the chapters.7 And recent critiques of regime theory remain centered on economic development, and do not squarely address the relationship between race and local policymaking.8 Yet there is a virtual consensus that there is an urban crisis in the United States, and in many basic respects, the urban crisis is a racial crisis. What has happened to Buffalo has happened to cities all over the northeast and midwest, and many cities in other parts of the country as well: loss of population, increasing rates of poverty, the development of segregated, ghetto neighborhoods, and the ﬁscal strain that is produced by all these phenomena. Scholars of urban politics have yet to systematically address the policy-related causes of these trends. When reﬂecting on the racial and cultural divisions within cities today, one hopes that Judd and Kantor’s recent comment on the direction of research in urban politics in the near future turns out to be an accurate prediction: “Accordingly, in the next few years the scholarship on race, ethnicity, gender, and other social issues will become much richer; it may even become the center of gravity of urban scholarship.” 9 Moreover, scholars of urban poverty have not adequately emphasized the role that local political decision-making has played in the construction of the ghetto. The subject of local politics and power, and the issue of concentrated urban poverty, are clearly related areas of inquiry, and bringing them together into one larger dialogue seems appropriate considering the current state of many of the nation’s cities. While much of the research on urban politics remains centered on development, some recent works in the ﬁeld have begun to explore other critical issues. For example, scholars have begun to focus on the role of identity and cultural variables within the urban setting, thus have expanded the range of questions under consideration.10 While not sidestepping the inﬂuence of economic power, studies which focus on noneconomic variables recognize that urban political outcomes are driven by other important factors. Robert Bailey has articulated this perspective well: My argument is not that economic factors are unimportant but that the hegemony that economics has claimed for urban

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Race, Neighborhoods, and Community Power politics has gone too far. Even though it can explain much of development policy, the model is not powerful enough to relegate all other political phenomena—whether tied directly to economic change or completely separate from it— to the catchall category “postindustrial politics.”11

An emphasis on race and public policy results in another signiﬁcant divergence from many other analyses of urban affairs— on the issue of economic determinism. There is a strong element of economic determinism, or inevitability, present in the analyses of a wide range of urban scholars. These perspectives, no matter what the particular events or evidence offered, arrive at the same kinds of conclusions: that today’s urban situation has developed in a manner which has been rational, predictable, and relatively free of political conﬂict. For instance, Peterson’s economic analysis of city politics not only fails to address the signiﬁcance of race or ethnicity, but goes even further by suggesting that local politics is essentially devoid of any political conﬂict and debate: Lower levels of citizen involvement in local politics can be understood as rational responses to the structural context in which the public ﬁnds itself. The cues facilitating political involvement in national politics are in many cases noticeably absent. Much of the time, political parties do not structure conﬂict, issues do not have as burning an importance, and candidates do not ambitiously compete for ofﬁce. Information on local problems is hard to obtain from newspapers, and the decisions taken by local ofﬁcials are made in obscure settings. Interest groups do not identify causes that mobilize mass involvement.12 As we have seen, a good deal of local politics in Buffalo over the last several decades has been anything but issueless and unpublicized. And contemporary debates occurring in nearly every city about police review boards or public school systems, for instance, also demonstrate the problems inherent with Peterson’s assertion. The urban crisis cannot be reduced to the result of automatic market forces, but neither can it be afﬁrmed that the current state of cities has been the sole product of private, elite decision-making arrived at out of the public view. Public, often bitter political conﬂicts at the local level have produced policies which have signiﬁcantly shaped the residential development of urban areas.

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The deindustrialization argument also tends to reduce urban issues to the result of fundamental economic change. One could reasonably argue that technological changes in certain industries, such as steel, which have led to substantially reduced work forces have, in fact, been unavoidable. But as shown in chapter two, to equate ghettoization with deindustrialization is a misreading of history because since the early days of industrialization, African Americans were widely discriminated against in manufacturing employment and labor union membership. One could also argue that a certain amount of poverty and unemployment are inevitable in a capitalist economy. But here again, there has been nothing at all inevitable about any one group being so disproportionately affected by economic hardship as African Americans have been. Further, the creation of geographically concentrated poverty is fundamentally irrational when viewed from the perspective of the social costs which accompany it. It was not economically rational to contain blacks in a relatively small area on Buffalo’s east side for so long, or to segregate city schools, or to discriminate against African Americans in the job market, and so on. Scholars Joe Feagin and Hernan Vera have poignantly discussed the irrationality and destructiveness of white racism: Americans should see white racism for what it is: a tremendously wasteful set of practices, legitimated by deeply embedded myths, that deprives its victims, its perpetrators, and U.S. society as a whole of much valuable human talent and energy and many social, economic, and political resources.13 Unless one adopts the position that racism is part of the human condition, a view which approaches the height of pessimism, there has been nothing about the way Buffalo’s neighborhoods have developed that has been inevitable. The notion that it is in the interests of all the residents of a region to have a healthy central city, and therefore to address the problems of the poorest neighborhoods, must be the foundation of today’s urban policy agenda. Coming to terms with racial attitudes is at the very core of creating this kind of public sentiment. Until the subject of race is addressed in a direct way, then, creating a sound urban agenda designed to deal with pressing problems cannot truly begin.

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I am not arguing that a certain set of decisions made by local ofﬁcials could immediately reverse the process of neighborhood decline. Given the extreme ﬁscal constraints that most cities face, such a set of events is just not plausible. Moreover, I do not wish to minimize the role that private economic power has played in shaping neighborhoods. As I have discussed, the role of the banking and real estate industries has been signiﬁcant in inﬂuencing residential development. I am suggesting, however, that a more comprehensive account of neighborhood development entails looking at the actions of local governments, including the relationship between the public and their elected and appointed ofﬁcials. This type of analysis could create a shift away from either crime or social welfare spending as the primary explanations of the geographic concentration of poverty in urban areas. Local political institutions have mattered, and continue to matter, in inﬂuencing the characteristics of cities and their neighborhoods. In sum, the presence of racially segregated, low-income urban neighborhoods is a constant reminder that democracy based on both majority rule and protection of minority rights has not been realized. Rather, too often majorities have won out, and the effects of political losses on minority communities—who were already subject to extensive discrimination—have become more pronounced. The continued existence of segregated ghetto neighborhoods makes it difﬁcult for local democracy to function today.

Conclusion Many of the neighborhoods of Buffalo today, like the neighborhoods in every other rust belt city, face difﬁcult challenges, but there are several encouraging signs as well. For example, parts of the lower east side around the Ellicott and Douglass complexes have been the site of the construction of many new homes over the last several years, and Ellicott Mall itself has ﬁnally undergone successful redevelopment. This new housing inspires a positive feeling, as it seems to conﬁrm the notion that good housing is still the foundation of decent neighborhood life. Much of the lower and central east side, however, still has very old housing stock, in addition to numerous vacant buildings and property, and consequently appears much more deteriorated. Other sections of the east side possess low unemployment and poverty rates, and are the home for many members of the African American middle class. Moreover,

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while poverty is a problem in sections of the west side, parts of the lower and central west side have successfully become reasonably integrated communities, with whites, blacks, and an increasing number of Latinos sharing many neighborhoods. The university heights neighborhood in the northeast part of the city has continued to become more racially diverse as well, and African American migration to the suburbs, which until very recently was negligible, has also increased over the last few years.14 Parts of the far east side, like south Buffalo and much of the northwest area of the city, however, remain effectively all-white communities. There has been nothing unavoidable about the manner in which Buffalo’s neighborhoods have developed over the last several decades, nor is there anything predetermined about the future of any neighborhood either. Using this idea as a starting point, policy should be directed at promoting greater racial and socioeconomic residential integration, particularly in the lowest income areas, while working gradually toward redeveloping them as well. Policymakers and scholars alike need to begin from the assumption that the contemporary state of cities did not emerge as a result of autonomous market forces, but rather evolved from decades of purposive decision-making in which race and location have been central elements.

Postscript

Events of 1999 further illustrated the prominent role of race in Buffalo and western New York. In November, the trial in the wrongful death law suit ﬁled by the family of Cynthia Wiggins began. The defendants in the case were the Pyramid Companies (owner of the Walden Galleria), the Niagara Frontier Transportation Authority (NFTA), John P. Munch (the driver of the truck that struck and killed Wiggins in December 1995), and Majestic Pools (the owner of the truck). The Wiggins family was seeking $150 million in damages. The case was bound to receive extensive attention. But when the Wiggins family retained Johnnie Cochran, Jr., one of the most famous lawyers in the country, the case produced even more interest among the press and public. Yet after only a seven-day trial, the various parties agreed on a settlement. The agreement stipulated that Wiggins’ son was to receive $2.55 million over an undetermined number of years, with Pyramid contributing the largest percentage. The settlement came just before Cochran was scheduled to call two key witnesses, both of whom would likely have testiﬁed that the mall deliberately excluded the number 6 bus from its property because of the large number of minorities who regularly ride it. The trial highlighted the huge disparities between the city and suburbs, and contributed to debate on a range of important issues. Race also played a critical role in local elections. For the ﬁrst time in the city’s history, the election of 1999 gave African Americans a majority (seven of thirteen members) on the Buffalo Common Council. The Fillmore district sent an African American to city hall, an outcome which might well have been expected several years earlier, had not the racial gerrymandering following the 1990 census and reapportionment redrawn the district to include the old ﬁrst ward. In addition, new African American members were elected

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in the University district and an at-large post, while black incumbents won in Ellicott, Masten, two at-large posts, and council president. Throughout 1999, another issue was hotly debated in certain western New York political circles. This debate concerned the speciﬁcs of a new Peace Bridge, the bridge that connects Buffalo and Fort Erie, Ontario. Since it involved so many private interests and governmental actors in two countries, the debate about the politics of the bridge became rather complicated. But the attention given to the issue warrants its inclusion within this broader history of Buffalo and western New York. When I began researching Buffalo politics in the fall of 1995, one of the things that struck me the most was that so many people in western New York had what I would label a “theory of Buffalo.” Local media (particularly talk radio) is also replete with discussions of regional decline and debates about how to reinvigorate Buffalo and western New York today. All of these theories attempt, in one way or another, to explain the city’s decline—its loss of population, diminished economic strength, increasing poverty, and so forth. Some of the more popular theories include: the construction of the St. Lawrence Seaway in 1959, which allowed shipping trafﬁc between the east coast and midwest to bypass Buffalo; the decision to locate the UB campus in suburban Amherst instead of downtown; the extensive layoffs at Bethlehem Steel in the early 1970s; and the scaled-back light rail line, which now runs only beneath Main Street within the city limits. But these are not the only theories I heard. A medical doctor had a detailed theory which traced the decline of the city to the blizzard of 1977, during which the Tonight Show’s Johnny Carson joked about Buffalo in some of his monologues. The doctor maintained that once Carson made fun of Buffalo, people across the country began to look differently at the city, and its decline became, in effect, inevitable. Some of the explanations for the city’s decline offered by individuals with whom I spoke were, indeed, a bit far-fetched. Yet in an age of increasing political apathy and disgust with government at all levels, listening to a wide variety of individuals provide explanations as to what has happened to the city and region, was, in fact, refreshing. Western New Yorkers clearly have given substantial thought to the fate of their community, and care a great deal about its future. I am not suggesting that many of the above events did not have negative effects on the city of Buffalo. The siting of UB and

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stunted construction of the light rail line stand out as particularly harmful to the city’s vitality. Yet to explain the decline of the city with no explicit discussion of the role of race is to miss the central dynamic of city politics and social relations over the past several decades. The debate about the Peace Bridge has elements of what I have labeled a theory of Buffalo. Underlying much of the debate about the bridge is the idea that the future of the city and region hinge on the design of the bridge. While there may very well be a design which is aesthetically more pleasing, the Peace Bridge debate is ultimately an elite debate, and I suggest it has little salience to most residents of Buffalo and Erie County. The best evidence of its lack of salience is that newly-elected Republican County Executive Joel Giambra managed to defeat three-term Democratic incumbent Dennis Gorski without even taking a position on the Peace Bridge.1 Like other major planning decisions, the construction of the bridge will make a difference in the region. But the individuals hurt most by the city’s decline, who are disproportionately African American, will beneﬁt from increased economic opportunities in the city, better housing, improved transportation, and city schools which are given a higher priority by voters and policy makers. In short, an environment in which institutions are desegregated and nondiscriminatory will beneﬁt those who have been hurt most by the decline of the city. And as was discussed earlier, metropolitan growth and development is more likely to occur when existing disparities, among the city’s neighborhoods, and between the city and suburbs, are lessened. In today’s political climate, it is increasingly difﬁcult to assemble political coalitions around broad principles of social and economic justice, which are so intertwined with racial justice. Yet that is the task of political leaders, and coming to terms with the depth of discriminatory patterns is the ﬁrst step in building multiracial coalitions which concentrate on working toward these broad principles.

Methodological Appendix

The primary sources used for this research include a wide variety of local, state, and federal government documents, all of which are cited in the notes. I also relied on several unpublished reports and studies for data and historical information, which are also cited. Basic factual information, such as the chronology of events, election results, and so forth, was obtained from local newspapers. The events of chapters 4 and 5 are more thoroughly documented than those of other chapters because to date there exists no comprehensive account (published or unpublished) of the numerous conﬂicts surrounding public housing and redevelopment during the time period examined in these chapters. All population and housing data, unless otherwise indicated, are from United States decennial census reports. Though I conducted numerous interviews during my research, interviews were not the primary source for any of the data. For several reasons, interviews were difﬁcult. The most obvious reason is the historical nature of most of the chapters. Many individuals, even some involved in the more recent events such as school desegregation, were deceased when I began the research in September 1995. Moreover, interviewing people about events that occurred twenty or thirty years ago or more is problematic, as people’s memories may not always be accurate. Further, much of the information I needed was factual and speciﬁc, and could not necessarily be obtained through the interview process. In spite of these difﬁculties, I was able to interview several former and current elected and appointed ofﬁcials, as well as persons involved in housing advocacy and the school system. These interviews were conducted with the understanding that no quotes, even anonymous ones, would be included in the ﬁnal product. If I learned anything in an interview which I was previously unaware of, I corroborated it with

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some sort of documentary evidence before including it in the text. Generally the formal interviews helped to provide context for the events which I examined, and frequently conﬁrmed facts which, after extensive research, I already knew. In a few instances, questionnaires were also used, mainly as a method of obtaining unpublished information. I also had numerous informal conversations with residents of Buffalo and western New York during the approximately threeyear period of research and writing. These were conversations with people who lived in many different neighborhoods around the city and suburbs. The background of persons with whom I spoke was fairly diverse, and included individuals in the following ﬁelds: political activism, education (both high school and college), the media, the arts, law enforcement, banking, labor relations, medicine, the clergy, law, and persons from information-related ﬁelds such as librarians and archivists. In addition, I also had many interesting conversations with custodians, bartenders, cashiers, laborers, and receptionists. In most instances, I did not know these people personally, but rather met them during the course of my research, or in public or social settings. Although just about everyone is quite guarded when discussing issues related to race, these conversations still helped me to better understand some of the more recent events I studied, and were particularly helpful in assessing the dynamics of the Grifﬁn administration. Another more informal method of research I employed was akin to participant observation. I lived in three neighborhoods, each in a different common council district, during the period of research and writing: one predominantly white north Buffalo neighborhood in the North district; and two much more racially and socioeconomically diverse west side neighborhoods, in the Niagara and Ellicott districts. Living in Buffalo certainly helped me to better understand many fundamental issues, and also allowed me easy access to the locations involved in the events I was studying.

Notes

Chapter One 1. Using data from the 1980 census, Massey and Denton found Buffalo to be one of sixteen hypersegregated cities in the United States. Douglas S. Massey and Nancy A. Denton, American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), 75, 76. 2. There has been substantial controversy over the use of the term “underclass,” mainly revolving around the term’s pejorative connotations. On this point, see Adolph Reed, Jr., “The Underclass as Myth and Symbol: The Poverty of Discourse About Poverty,” Radical America 24 (January 1992): 21–41; Sanford F. Schram, Words of Welfare: The Poverty of Social Science and the Social Science of Poverty (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994), 15, 16; Joe R. Feagin and Leslie Innis, “The Black Underclass Ideology in Race Relations Analysis,” Social Justice 16 (Winter 1989): 12–34; and Stephen Steinberg, Turning Back: The Retreat from Racial Justice in American Thought and Policy (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995), chapter 6. 3. Census tracts with poverty rates of 40 percent or higher have generally been the standard used by scholars in measuring the number of persons living in ghetto neighborhoods. According to the 1990 census, the racial composition of all persons living in these locations was 52.5 percent African American, 29.7 percent Hispanic, and 11.8 percent non-Hispanic white. Paul A. Jargowsky, “Ghetto Poverty Among Blacks in the 1980s,” Journal of Policy Analysis and Management 13, no. 2 (1994): 288–310. 4. William Julius Wilson, When Work Disappears: The World of the New Urban Poor (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1996), 15. 5. Myron Orﬁeld, Metropolitcs: A Regional Agenda for Community and Stability, revised edition (Washington: Brookings Institution Press, 1997), 18, 19.

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6. Henry Taylor has made this point in a detailed study of some of the lower income areas on Buffalo’s east side: “The data clearly indicate that the increase in economic and social dislocations on the East Side did not destroy the social fabric of the black community.” Henry Louis Taylor, Jr., “Social Transformation Theory, African Americans and the Rise of Buffalo’s PostIndustrial City,” Buffalo Law Review 39, no. 2 (spring 1991), 599. 7. Paul Jargowsky has also elaborated on the idea that despite important differences between poor neighborhoods and other areas, when one examines all the characteristics of low income neighborhoods closely, “the picture that emerges is not the popular image of ghetto neighborhoods as otherworldly, a class apart.” Paul A. Jargowsky, Poverty and Place: Ghettos, Barrios, and the American City (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1997), 115. 8. David Rusk, Cities Without Suburbs, second edition (Washington: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 1995), 40, 41. 9. Charles Murray, Losing Ground: American Social Policy, 1950– 1980 (New York: Basic Books, 1984). 10. William Julius Wilson, The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner City, the Underclass, and Public Policy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987); Wilson, 1996. 11. There are many other works on both the origins as well as the characteristics of concentrated urban poverty, including Nicholas Lemann, The Promised Land: The Great Migration and How It Changed America (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1991); Christopher Jencks and Paul E. Peterson, eds., The Urban Underclass (Washington: The Brookings Institution, 1991); Michael B. Katz, ed., The “Underclass” Debate: Views from History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993); George C. Galster and Edward W. Hill, The Metropolis in Black and White: Place, Power, and Polarization (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1992); Joel A. Devine and James D. Wright, The Greatest of Evils: Urban Poverty and the American Underclass (New York: Aldine De Gruyter, 1993); and John Charles Boger and Judith Welch Wegner, eds., Race, Poverty, and American Cities (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1996). While reﬂecting a range of disciplinary perspectives and concerns, none of these works give special attention to the role that local politics has played in the production of the contemporary ghetto. 12. Paul E. Peterson, City Limits (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 25. 13. Massey and Denton emphasize the locational dimension of the phenomenon of concentrated poverty, but since their work is based on examples and data from numerous cities, they do not focus on one particular neighborhood or neighborhoods within a speciﬁc city.

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14. Some scholars have empirically challenged the connection between deindustrialization and the emergence of the ghetto. For example, Norman Fainstein has argued that a more accurate assessment of the economic situation of urban blacks today is their “segmentation into low wage employment in growth industries.” Norman Fainstein, “The Underclass/ Mismatch Hypothesis as an Explanation for Black Economic Deprivation,” Politics and Society 15, no. 4 (1986–87), 403. And more recently, Stephen Steinberg has criticized the social science establishment for essentially accepting the deindustrialization thesis despite the lack of evidence for it offered by Wilson. Steinberg, Turning Back, 1995, 145. Related to the deindustrialization thesis is the spatial mismatch hypothesis, which maintains that job growth in suburban areas, occurring simultaneously with job decline in urban areas, has been a central factor in the perpetuation of black poverty because of the higher educational levels necessary for jobs in high growth areas as well as the continued existence of housing discrimination. Though there are many variations of the spatial mismatch hypothesis, because of its emphasis on the connection between residential location and employment opportunity, it is more instructive as an explanation for concentrated urban poverty than is simply the loss of heavy industry. See John D. Kasarda, “Urban Change and Minority Opportunities,” in Paul E. Peterson, ed., The New Urban Reality (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1985): 33–67; John D. Kasarda, “Urban Industrial Transition and the Underclass,” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 501 (January 1989): 26–47; and John Yinger, Closed Doors, Opportunities Lost: The Continuing Costs of Housing Discrimination (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1995): 147–53. 15. An excellent review of the community power debate is provided by John Mollenkopf, A Phoenix in the Ashes: The Rise and Fall of the Koch Coalition in New York City Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992), chapter 2. 16. Robert A. Dahl, Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1961). 17. Floyd Hunter, Community Power Structure: A Study of Decision Makers (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1953). 18. Peter Bachrach and Morton S. Baratz, Power and Poverty: Theory and Practice (New York: Oxford University Press, 1970). 19. Peterson, 1981. A sampling of the literature that emerged as a challenge to Peterson includes Susan S. Fainstein, Norman I. Fainstein, Richard Child Hill, Dennis Judd, and Michael Peter Smith, Restructuring the City: The Political Economy of Urban Redevelopment (New York: Longman, 1983); Todd Swanstrom, The Crisis of Growth Politics: Cleveland, Kucinich, and the Challenge of Urban Populism (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1985); John R. Logan and Harvey L. Molotch, Urban

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Fortunes: The Political Economy of Place (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987); John R. Logan and Todd Swanstrom, eds., Beyond the City Limits: Urban Policy and Economic Restructuring in a Comparative Perspective (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990); and Clarence Stone and Heywood T. Sanders, eds., The Politics of Urban Development (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1987). 20. Clarence Stone, Regime Politics: Governing Atlanta 1946–1988 (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1989). 21. Ronald H. Bayor, Race and the Shaping of Twentieth Century Atlanta (Chapel Hill, N.C: University of North Carolina Press, 1996). 22. Richard A. Keiser, Subordination or Empowerment? African American Leadership and the Struggle for Urban Political Power (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 131. 23. Rufus P. Browning, Dale R. Marshall, and David H. Tabb, Protest Is Not Enough: The Struggle of Blacks and Hispanics for Equality in Urban Politics (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1984); Rufus P. Browning, Dale R. Marshall, and David H. Tabb, eds., Racial Politics in American Cities (New York: Longman, 1990); Rufus P. Browning, Dale R. Marshall, and David Tabb, Racial Politics in American Cities, second edition (New York: Longman, 1997); Raphael Soneshein, Politics in Black and White: Race and Power in Los Angeles (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993); and Marcus D. Pohlman and Michael P. Kirby, Racial Politics at the Crossroads: Memphis Elects Dr. W. W. Herenton (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1996). Several of the chapters in two edited volumes also focus on the electoral strategies of African Americans in local politics: Georgia A. Persons, ed., Dilemmas of Black Politics: Issues of Leadership and Strategy (New York: Harper Collins, 1993); and Huey L. Perry, ed., Race, Politics, and Governance in the United States (Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida, 1996). 24. I do not wish to minimize the importance of elite driven practices such as redlining, blockbusting, and racial steering, but rather I suggest that an exclusive focus on these activities neglects many public actions which have affected neighborhoods, and also implicitly minimizes the extent and impact of racism among nonelite actors. 25. For a discussion of the difﬁculties of ﬁtting the variable of race into a traditional pluralist framework, see Dianne M. Pinderhughes, Race and Ethnicity in Chicago Politics: A Reexamination of Pluralist Theory (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1987). 26. Barbara Ferman, “Chicago: Power, Race, and Reform,” in Dennis R. Judd and Paul A. Kantor, eds., The Politics of Urban America: A Reader, second edition (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1998), 224, 225.

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27. Domhoff ’s argument on this point is the most persuasive. G. William Domhoff, Who Really Rules: New Haven and Community Power Reexamined (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1978). 28. Harold Lasswell, Politics: Who Gets, What, When, How (Cleveland: World Publishing Co., 1958). 29. Dahl, Who Governs? 1961, chapters 2–7. 30. Stone, Regime Politics, 1989, chapters 2–8. 31. Hunter is nearly an exception to this generalization as he correctly states that the physical city did not just come into being unconsciously, but rather was built by human will. Hunter also discusses the characteristics of the city’s particular neighborhoods. His analysis leads us to believe that the construction of Atlanta is related to local politics, but, in the end, his reputational methodology does not make the link between policy and neighborhood development explicit. 32. My discussion of representation is taken from the classic study by Hannah Pitkin, The Concept of Representation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), in which the author provides a useful typology of approaches to representation. In addition to the descriptive view, Pitkin also discusses the authorization and symbolic views. 33. Ibid., 60. 34. Ibid., 61. 35. Clearly chief executives have not always appointed high ranking ofﬁcials who are demographically diverse, nor do they always do so today. But generally there has been a trend at all levels of American government over the past several decades in the direction of diversity among high-level appointments. 36. For example, the Voting Rights Act of 1965 ﬁrmly established the principle that discrimination in voting was a violation of the Fifteenth Amendment. The act was mainly targeted at southern states which still employed a variety of measures effectively limiting the voting rights of minorities. After its passage, not only did the numbers of registered voters throughout the south increase substantially, but the numbers of black elected ofﬁcials increased as well. The Supreme Court has also addressed the issue of descriptive representation, either directly or indirectly, in several cases. After the one person—one vote principle had been established in several cases leading up to and including Baker v. Carr, 369 U.S. 186 (1962), the court reafﬁrmed the constitutionality of the notion of fair representation in Reynolds v. Sims, 377 U.S. 533 (1964), which held that state legislatures must be apportioned substantially in terms of the state’s racial and ethnic composition. Along with the Voting Rights Act, these cases

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had the eventual effect of making legislatures at all levels of government in the United States more representative. 37. Some of the court’s more recent decisions limiting the use of racial districting include Shaw v. Reno, 113 S.Ct. 2816 (1993), Holder v. Hall, 114 S.Ct. 2581 (1994), and Johnson v. DeGrandy, 114 S.Ct. 2647 (1994). Speaking for the court in Shaw, however, Justice O’Connor afﬁrmed that race is still relevant in legislative districting. 38. Steven J. L. Taylor, Desegregation in Boston and Buffalo: The Inﬂuence of Local Leaders (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1998): 190–97. 39. Browning, Marshall, and Tabb, Protest, 1984, 141. 40. Hunter (1953), Dahl (1961), and Bachrach and Baratz (1970) all, to a certain extent, emphasize the importance of looking at the race and ethnicity of local ofﬁcials. More recent literature, particularly Stone (1989) and Mollenkopf (1992), discusses the role of race in forming electoral coalitions, thus implicitly afﬁrming the signiﬁcance of racial representation. 41. Several scholars have illustrated the link between increased minority representation and tangible gains for minority communities. For example, in their study of ten California cities, Browning, Marshall, and Tabb found “[w]hen liberal coalitions composed of minorities (typically Democrats) gained control of city councils, city employment of minorities increased, police review boards were created, more minorities were appointed to commissions, more minority contractors were utilized by the cities, and minority-oriented programs were established.” Browning, Marshall, and Tabb, Protest, 1984, 250. Several of the chapters in Browning, Marshall, and Tabb’s two edited volumes also demonstrate the positive relationship between minority representation and policy outputs. Robert Catlin found that the political empowerment of the black community in Gary led to measurable economic advances for that city’s blacks as well. See Robert A. Catlin, Racial Politics and Urban Planning: Gary, Indiana 1980–1989 (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1993). Other works which discuss the gains of minority communities that accompany increased minority representation include Albert Karnig and Susan Welch, Black Representation and Urban Policy (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); and Peter K. Eisinger, “Black Mayors and the Politics of Racial Economic Advancement,” in Harlan Hahn and Charles Levine, eds., Readings in Urban Politics, 2d. ed. (New York: Longman, 1984): 249–60. 42. While I maintain that neighborhood change is a gradual or incremental process, blockbusting has historically been a method used by the real estate industry to bring about the rapid transition of city blocks, sometimes as quickly as within one or two years.

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43. Katherine M. O’Regan, “The Effects of Social Networks and Concentrated Poverty on Black and Hispanic Youth Unemployment,” Annals of Regional Science 27 (spring 1993): 327–42. 44. Clearly the deindustrialization of Buffalo and western New York has worsened the economic prospects for the city’s African Americans. To repeat, I am not arguing that deindustrialization has not occurred, nor that this process has not hurt the economic prospects of lower income urban residents. Rather, I take issue with the argument that the loss of industry has been the primary cause of the concentration of poverty and the residential segregation which is characteristic of large sections of the east side today.

Chapter Two 1. For a comprehensive history of suburbanization in the United Sates, see Kenneth T. Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). 2. Data for 1958 was obtained from City and County Data Book: 1962 (Washington: U.S. Commerce Department, 1962), 257, 258, 540, 541; for 1967 from City and County Data Book: 1972 (Washington: U.S. Commerce Department, 1972), 337, 338, 746, 747; for 1977 from City and County Data Book: 1983 (Washington: U.S. Commerce Department, 1983), 392, 393, 757, 758; and for 1987 from City and County Data Book: 1994 (Washington: U.S. Commerce Department, 1994), 392, 393, 790, 791. Because of the difﬁculty in obtaining reliable historical data for only the central business district, data for the entire city was used. While economic data for the city as a whole is not synonymous with data for the central business district, because of the concentration of retail establishments downtown, and the relative concentration of manufacturing outlets near downtown, the decline in the numbers of these types of establishments over the last several decades within the entire city, in both absolute terms and relative to the county, gives us a fairly good idea of what has happened to downtown Buffalo itself. 3. As late as 1930, for example, census tracts 14 and 15, which contained the largest numbers of blacks of any tracts in the city, were still 45 percent and 84 percent white respectively. 4. Here I do not mean to imply that even the poorest neighborhoods in the east side do not possess working people and functioning institutions because, as I stated in chapter one, they most certainly do. Rather, the point I am making is that ghetto neighborhoods tend to have certain common physical characteristics.

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5. Some of the more recent successful housing efforts on Buffalo’s east side are described by Andrew Danzo, “Saving Neighborhoods: In Buffalo, Innovative Arrangements Are Turning Tenants into Homeowners,” Empire State Report (December 1993): 41–43. 6. Joel Giambra, “The Future of Municipal Government in Buffalo,” Buffalo Alternative Press 6, no. 4 (May 1996), 9. 7. The census gives several different poverty rates. The numbers given in tables 2.3, 2.4, and 2.5 are the percent of all individuals living below the poverty line. 8. The 1970 census did not provide the rates of poverty for particular racial groups in metropolitan areas. 9. For example, in the area covered by the census tracts in table 2.5, according to 1990 census, approximately one-third (32 percent) of all households were families headed by single females. In addition, recent crime data indicate that this area does have more crime than other areas in the city. In 1990, out of 14 precincts total, the geographic area covered by police precincts 4, 6, 8, and 12, which includes all of the area I am discussing, although making up less than 30 percent of total city population, had 63 percent of all the homicides in the city, and 45 percent of all the robberies. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1990, 31. More recent crime data also conﬁrm this. In 1994, out of 10 precincts total, the area covered by precincts 4, 6, 11, and 12, had 62 percent of all the city’s homicides and 47 percent of all robberies (precinct boundaries were changed between 1990 and 1994 because of consolidation). Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1994, 17. (The population of police precincts was estimated because precinct boundaries have not always been drawn contiguous to census tract boundaries and because annual police reports did not always include total population for each precinct.) 10. David C. Perry, “The Politics of Dependency in Deindustrializing America: The Case of Buffalo, New York,” in Michael Peter Smith and Joe R. Feagin, eds., The Capitalist City: Global Restructuring and Community Politics (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1987): 119–37. 11. Mark Goldman, High Hopes: The Rise and Decline of Buffalo, New York (Albany, NY: State University at New York Press, 1983), 273. 12. Ibid. 13. Percentages are converted from ﬁgures given in City of Buffalo, Consolidated Plan: Volume I, Draft Technical Compendium, 1995. 14. Douglas Koritz, “Restructuring or Destructuring? Deindustrialization in Two Industrial Heartland Cities,” Urban Affairs Quarterly 26, no. 4 (June 1991): 497–511. 15. Thomas M. Stanback, Jr. and Thierry J. Noyelle, Cities in Transition: Changing Job Structures in Atlanta, Denver, Buffalo, Phoenix,

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Columbus (Ohio), Nashville, Charlotte (Totowa, NJ: Allanheld, Osmun & Co., Inc., 1982), 110, 111. 16. On the subject of racial discrimination in the history of labor unions, see Jill Quadagno, The Color of Welfare: How Racism Undermined the War on Poverty (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), chapter 3; on the subject of racism in labor history, see Herbert Hill, “The Problem of Race in American Labor History,” Reviews in American History 24 (1996): 189–208; Lawrence T. McDonnell, “`You Are Too Sentimental’: Problems and Suggestions for a New Labor History,” Journal of Social History 17 (summer 1984): 629–54; Michael Kazin, “Struggling With the Class Struggle: Marxism and the Search for a Synthesis of U.S. Labor History,” Labor History 28 (fall 1987): 497–514; and David Roediger, “Race and the Working Class Past in the United States: Multiple Identities and the Future of Labor History,” International Review of Social History 38 (1993, Supplement 1): 127–43. 17. Lillian Secree Williams, “The Development of a Black Community: Buffalo, New York, 1900–1940” (Ph.D. diss., State University of New York at Buffalo, 1979), especially chapter 4. 18. Black unemployment were rates converted from census data for the years 1940, 1950, and 1960. 19. For example, the following is a comparison of the percentages of total persons employed in certain sectors of the economy followed by the percentages of African Americans employed in those sectors (total employed/African Amer. employed) in 1950: professional and kindred workers, 9.2%/2.2%; managers, ofﬁcers, and proprietors, including farmers, 8.7%/ 1.8%; clerical and kindred workers, 14.9%/2.5%; sales workers, 11.0%/1.2%; craftsmen, foremen, and kindred workers, 14.2%/8.3%; operatives and kindred workers, 22.8%/23.7%; private household workers, 1.6%/7.6%; service workers, except private household workers, 9.4%/14.8%; laborers, except mine, 7.3%/20.8%; and 1.0%/0.9% from unreported occupations. The pattern was essentially the same in 1960: professional, technical, and kindred workers, 10.1%/3.9%; managers, ofﬁcers, and proprietors, including farmers, 5.9%/0.9%; clerical and kindred workers, 16.1%/4.3%; sales workers, 7.2%/1.8%; craftsmen, foremen, and kindred workers, 14.1%/7.1%; operatives and kindred workers, 21.8%/23.1%; private household workers, 1.5%/ 4.9%; service workers, except private household, 11.0%/15.3%; laborers, except mine, 6.4%/14.1%; and 6.0%/6.6% from unreported occupations. (Data for the entire labor force were used because neither census provided statistics for the white labor force only.) 20. The original federal district court case was U.S. v. Bethlehem Steel, 312 F. Supp. 977 (1970); on appeal, the case was U.S. v. Bethlehem Steel, 446 F. 2d 652 (1971). 21. 312 F. Supp. 977, 979.

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22. Ibid., 979. 23. Ibid., 980. In the summer of 1966, twenty-six out of 1,100 individuals hired were black; in the summer of 1967, twelve out of 478 individuals hired were black. 24. 446 F. 2d 652, 655. 25. City of Buffalo, Buffalo Model Cities Program, Part I, September 1969, 179. 26. Arthur Butler, Henry Louis Taylor, Jr., and Doo-Ha Ryu, “Work and Black Neighborhood Life in Buffalo, 1930–1980,” in Henry Louis Taylor, Jr., ed., African Americans and the Rise of Buffalo’s Post Industrial City, 1940– Present, Volume 2 (Buffalo: Buffalo Urban League, Inc., 1990), 127.

Chapter Three 1. In the mid-nineteenth century, Irish immigrants lived in this section of the east side, and in the beginning of the twentieth century, Polish, German, and Italian immigrants established communities there also. 2. For the ﬁgures in tables 3.2 and 3.3, for 1930–1960, census tracts 12, 13, 14, 15, 25, 26, and 31 were used; and for 1970–1990, tracts 12, 13.01, 13.02, 14.01, 14.02, 15, 25.01, 25.02, 26, and 31 were used. These two sets of census tracts constitute the same geographic area. Admittedly, my designation of this part of the city as the “lower east side” is somewhat arbitrary. It was chosen because it was in this location that the city’s African American population originally lived, and because today this area is quite segregated and contains a high rate of poverty. Further, the designation “lower east side” provides the necessary distinction between this area and the rest of the city that lies east of Main Street. 3. The nine common council districts are Delaware, Ellicott, Lovejoy, Masten, Niagara, North, South, University, and Fillmore (which up through 1968, was known as the Walden district). 4. Because of New York State law, minor parties can endorse major party candidates in elections, thus individuals running as the candidates chosen by the Democratic or Republican parties frequently also run in the same election on the Liberal and Conservative party tickets respectively. In table 3.4, the partisan afﬁliations listed are the main afﬁliations for each mayor. 5. Mayor James Grifﬁn’s relationship to political parties has been unique. Grifﬁn was, and still is, a registered Democrat. However, in his ﬁrst election to the mayor’s ofﬁce in 1977, Grifﬁn lost the Democratic primary and subsequently won in the general election on the Conservative

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ticket. In 1981, Grifﬁn won reelection running in the Democratic, Republican, Conservative, and Right-to-Life parties. In 1985, after again losing in the Democratic primary, Grifﬁn won reelection running on the Republican, Conservative, and Right-to-Life tickets. In 1989, he was reelected running in the Democratic, Republican, Conservative, and Right-to-Life parties. In 1997, in an attempt at a political comeback, after losing the Democratic mayoral primary to the incumbent Masiello, Grifﬁn ran on the Right-to-Life line in the general election and lost. The events of these elections are discussed in more detail in chapters seven and eight. 6. Here I am counting the instances that an African American has run in the general election with a party afﬁliation. I am not counting, therefore, the 1989 election in which, after losing the Democratic primary to Mayor Grifﬁn and then failing to secure any party line in the general election, Wilbur Trammell received over seven thousand votes in a writein campaign. 7. Before the 1970 census and subsequent reapportionment, the council adopted a temporary weighted system of voting to reﬂect recent population changes which was effective during 1970–71. In this weighted system, each of the six at-large members, including council president, received 1.0 votes, and the following weights were given to the individual districts: North, 1.0; Delaware, 0.9; University, 0.89; Lovejoy, 0.87; South, 0.86; Masten, 0.85; Fillmore, 0.77; Niagara, 0.76; and Ellicott, 0.56. 8. To reﬂect changes in population, the common council district lines have been changed several times. Because the black community has been concentrated in the Ellicott and Masten districts, the issue of racial gerrymandering has not been seriously raised until recently. The apportionment based on the 1990 census, which was approved by a majority of the council and Mayor Grifﬁn in 1991, however, was challenged. Beginning in the early 1990s, several individuals and civil rights groups ﬁled unsuccessful legal suits questioning the apportionment of the Fillmore and Niagara districts, the most comprehensive of which was Hispanics for Fair and Equitable Reapportionment et al. v. Grifﬁn et al., 91-CV 418 (1991). 9. All data on the composition of each of the city’s boards are based on the membership during January of each year. In most cases, board members are appointed for several year terms. However, because of staggered terms, resignations, or deaths in ofﬁce, the membership was examined for each calendar year. In order to determine the racial composition of all the boards, several methods were utilized. The Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council were used to obtain the names of all board members. For most of the years under examination, the Proceedings contained the names of all individuals serving on city boards and commissions. Once the names were obtained, several sources were used to verify the racial composition of each board, including newspaper articles from the Buffalo Criterion from the 1950s and 1960s, as well as a book by Eva

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Noles, Buffalo’s Blacks: Talking Proud (Buffalo: Noles Publishing Co., 1986), which describes prominent African Americans throughout the history of Buffalo. In a few instances, knowledgeable persons who had served in city government were asked to verify the racial makeup of a particular board at one point in time. These methods complemented one another, and allowed for a thorough corroboration of all of the data. 10. In this chapter, the memberships of the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority Board, the Board of Education, the Redevelopment Board, and the Urban Renewal Board are examined because these boards presided over programs which substantially impacted the city’s neighborhoods. Of these bodies, the BMHA and school boards have been the most inﬂuential. The BMHA has been responsible for running the city’s rather extensive public housing program since its inception in 1934, and the school board was a major player in the controversy over school desegregation, which had its origins in the 1950s and culminated in the Arthur v. Nyquist decision in 1976. In the 1950s, pursuant to the National Housing Act of 1949, the city created a board of redevelopment to plan and organize its urban renewal program. The board of redevelopment became the urban renewal board in 1962, continued through 1973, when it was terminated all together. While signiﬁcant, the redevelopment and urban renewal boards were much more dependent on actions of the council and mayor, making them somewhat less powerful than the other boards discussed in chapter 3. The membership of the city planning commission is not included because of the relative weakness of this body since planning was institutionalized in the city early in the twentieth century. Evidence of this is the numerous times the planning structure has been changed since its inception: in 1928 a planning commission replaced the city planning committee; in 1930 the commission was replaced by a board; in 1943 the board was replaced again by a commission; and in 1959, a planning board once again replaced the commission. Further, despite the many decades of ofﬁcial city planning in Buffalo, a master plan for the city was not produced by the board until 1964. A more thorough history of city planning in Buffalo has been provided by Norman Krumholz, “Redevelopment in Buffalo’s Ellicott District: The Politics of Urban Renewal” (Master’s thesis, Cornell University, 1965): 22–26. 11. Housing Opportunities Made Equal, Summary Data: BMHA Tenants 1969–1986. Speciﬁcally, by 1976 approximately 62 percent of all the residents living in housing managed by the BMHA—including housing built for the elderly—were African American. 12. This is not meant to imply that the racial composition of the BMHA board, as well as the racial policies of the authority generally, have not been an issue for discussion in recent years. For example, it was common knowledge that Mayor Grifﬁn appointed few blacks to positions of authority during his tenure. During the ﬁrst ten years of his administra-

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tion, despite the fact that a majority of BMHA tenants were black and that living conditions and high vacancy rates at several predominantly African American housing projects had become the subject of a good deal of rather heated debate, of sixteen Grifﬁn appointees to the BMHA board, only two were black, one of whom was given a one year appointment to ﬁll a vacancy rather than the usual ﬁve year appointment. By the time the Grifﬁn administration began in 1978, however, the board consisted of seven members, two of which were elected by the tenants, giving the mayor less inﬂuence than was the case in previous years. Conﬂicts involving the BMHA during the Grifﬁn administration are discussed in detail in chapters 7 and 8. 13. A few African Americans had previously been appointed to the planning commission, but, as already noted, the planning commission has had minimal inﬂuence in city government. 14. The city has had several African American newspapers, including the Star, American, Enterprise, Voice, and more recently the Challenger. The Buffalo Criterion, however, is western New York’s oldest black-owned and operated newspaper, and it is the only area black paper that has been in continuous publication for the entire span of this study. At no point, however, do I equate the editorial position of the Criterion with the position of a majority of the African American community. Judging from a thorough examination of roughly ﬁfteen years of issues of the weekly paper (from the late 1950s through the early 1970s), in many instances the Criterion adopted policy positions that were held by a minority of the city’s African American community. During this time period the paper still served one very important purpose—to continuously watch over local government, keeping track of the racial composition of the city’s many boards and commissions. In other words, when the paper afﬁrmed in editorials that no blacks were on various boards, it was stating facts, and I have used the Criterion primarily as a source of this type of factual information and not as an indicator of local black opinion. 15. Buffalo Criterion, 30 August 1958. (Buffalo is sometimes referred to by one of its two nick names—the Queen City, and the City of Good Neighbors.) 16. Buffalo Criterion, 9 May 1959. 17. Until 1983, Buffalo had two daily newspapers, the Buffalo Evening News and the Courier Express. That year, the Courier Express went out of business and the Buffalo Evening News changed its name to the Buffalo News. 18. Notable exceptions to this pattern include the election of black mayors in Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Denver, and Minneapolis. 19. Dennis R. Judd and Todd Swanstrom, City Politics: Private Power and Public Policy, second edition (New York: Harper Collins, 1998), 393.

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20. Adolph Reed, Jr., “A Critique of Neo-Progressivism in Theorizing About Local Development Policy: A Case From Atlanta,” in Clarence Stone and Heywood T. Sanders, eds., The Politics of Urban Development (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1987): 199–215; and Adolph Reed, Jr., “The Black Urban Regime: Structural Origins and Constraints,” in Michael Peter Smith, ed., Power, Community, and the City, Comparative Urban and Community Research, vol.1 (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1988): 138–89.

Chapter Four 1. Mark Goldman, High Hopes: The Rise and Decline of Buffalo, New York (Albany, NY: State University New York Press, 1983), 224. 2. Ibid., 225. 3. Buffalo Evening News, 13 February 1953. 4. Public Works Administration, America Builds: The Record of the PWA (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Ofﬁce, 1939), 283, 284. For a comprehensive account of the role of the PWA in public housing construction, see Gail Radford, Modern Housing for America: Policy Struggles in the New Deal Era (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1996), chapter 4. 5. Beginning in 1933, however, African Americans had been elected from the ﬁfth ward (one of the Ellicott district’s three wards) to the ﬁftyfour member Erie County Board of Supervisors. 6. William L. Evans, Race Fear and Housing (Washington: National Urban League, 1946): 16–18. 7. The 1936 Buffalo City Directory shows that the four streets adjacent to the Willert Park development (William, Mortimer, Jefferson, and Peckham) were occupied by Jewish residents and several different Jewish organizations, Italian residents and businesses, and black residents and establishments. William Evans of the Buffalo Urban League estimated that prior to the construction of public housing at Willert Park, the actual site of the development had been approximately 78 percent African American which, although indicating it was a majority black area, would still make the site interracial. And when one takes the surrounding blocks into account, clearly the neighborhood was home for both blacks and whites. (There were no directories published for several years during the late 1930s and early 1940s, so 1936 is the closest in time to 1941.) 8. Evans, 1946, 17. Evans was one of the area’s most important African American leaders during this period. One study of the city’s black leaders conducted several years later found him to be one of the four most inﬂuential leaders in the African American community. Jesse E. Nash, “Negro

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Community Leadership and Power in Buffalo, New York: A Case Study” (University Archives, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1966), 43. 9. Mark Goldman, “East Side Story,” Courier Express, 29 June 1980. 10. Evans, 1946, 21. 11. Ibid. 12. As J. Paul Mitchell has pointed out, there was an extended debate at the national level over housing built for defense workers during the late 1930s and early 1940s. This debate centered around two basic questions— whether defense-related housing should be administered by those federal agencies involved in the regular public housing program or by defense agencies themselves, and whether wartime housing should be built as temporary housing which would be either demolished or sold after the war or built as permanent housing for lower income workers. Immediately after the war, much of the housing built for defense workers was reserved for servicemen returning in need of affordable housing. Because of the poor construction of this housing, it did not take long for much of it to become abandoned, and eventually torn down. J. Paul Mitchell, “Historical Overview of Direct Federal Housing Assistance,” in J. Paul Mitchell, ed., Federal Housing Policy and Programs: Past and Present (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Center for Urban Policy Research, 1985), 193, 194. The Willert Park Apartments and extension, however, were never torn down, and are still managed today by the BMHA under the name of Alfred D. Price Courts/Extension. 13. Goldman, 1983, 233. 14. Evans, 1946, 21. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid., 22. 17. Buffalo Evening News, 14 August 1941. 18. Buffalo Evening News, 16 August 1941. 19. In 1938 Holling had written an article outlining both the virtues and obstacles associated with nonpolitical decision making at the local level. Thomas Holling, “Nonpartisan, Nonpolitical Municipal Government,” The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 199 (September 1938): 43–49. 20. Buffalo Evening News, 16 August 1941. 21. Ibid. 22. Buffalo Evening News, 13 August 1941. 23. Buffalo Evening News, 18 August 1941.

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24. Buffalo Evening News, 21 August 1941. 25. Buffalo Evening News, 22 August 1941. 26. Buffalo Evening News, 26 August 1941. Mayor Holling did not sign the ﬁrst resolution, which condemned the federal government for its actions regarding the site selection. 27. Courier Express, 28 August 1941. 28. Buffalo Evening News, 6 September 1941. 29. Ibid. 30. Buffalo Evening News, 8 September 1941. 31. Quoted in ibid. 32. Courier Express, 11 September 1941. 33. Buffalo Evening News, 12 September 1941. One of the Lovejoy sites was at the location of the old Dold Packing Company, which was several blocks to the east of Willert Park, in the 700 block of William Street. The other Lovejoy site was at Eagle and Smith Streets, located even further east and several blocks south. The neighborhood surrounding the Dold site was predominantly white and the Eagle/Smith neighborhood consisted almost exclusively of white residents. 34. Buffalo Evening News, 25 September 1941. 35. The 1936 Buffalo City Directory illustrates that the blocks immediately adjacent to this site had a large number of African American residents, along with some Italian Americans and Jews. 36. Courier Express, 25 October 1941. As noted, there was no massive resistance to this site selection, and black residents had voiced their support for it. It is difﬁcult to determine what may have inﬂuenced the corporation counsel’s ruling. The evidence does not suggest that there was any pressure on the city to look into the legality of the site selection, but one cannot say what was going on behind the scenes. The auditorium site was a large tract of land located on one of the city’s main streets that runs from downtown all the way to the eastern edge of the city and beyond, so it is conceivable that the city had other plans for the area, which prompted the corporation counsel’s ruling. This is only speculation, however. 37. Quoted in Buffalo Evening News, 3 December 1941. 38. Traveling south, Fillmore Avenue becomes Smith Street, therefore in articles and documents the site being debated was referred to both as the Eagle/Smith site and the Eagle/Fillmore site. These two different labels refer to the same site. 39. Buffalo Evening News, 19 February 1942.

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40. Quoted in Buffalo Evening News, 21 February 1942. 41. Courier Express, 23 February 1942. 42. Courier Express, 24 February 1942. 43. Buffalo Evening News, 4 March 1942. 44. Courier Express, 9 May 1942. 45. Courier Express, 26 August 1942. 46. Evans, 1946, 26. 47. Buffalo Memorial Center and Urban League, Fifteenth Annual Report, 1942. 48. Buffalo Urban League, Sixteenth Annual Report of Memorial Center and Urban League, Inc., 1943. 49. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 24 July 1945. 50. This estimate was calculated by adding 50 percent of the growth of the city’s African American population between 1940 and 1950 to the 1940 black population. 51. William L. Evans, Report to the Board of Directors, October–November– December 1945, 16 January 1946, 5. 52. Evans had presented much of the information contained in Race Fear and Housing a few years earlier in William L. Evans, “Federal Housing Brings Segregation to Buffalo,” Opportunity (April 1942): 106–11. Signiﬁcantly, Evans also conceded the discrimination faced by other ethnic groups in the Buffalo area: “As in employment, but perhaps with less force and effect, Italians, Poles, Jews, and other identiﬁable minorities, are unwelcome invaders in certain neighborhoods.” Evans, 1946, 8. 53. Evans, 1946, 7. 54. For Detroit, see Thomas J. Sugrue, The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and Inequality in Postwar Detroit (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996); for Chicago, see Arnold R. Hirsch, Making the Second Ghetto: Race and Housing in Chicago, 1940—1960 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983), and Martin Meyerson and Edward C. Banﬁeld, Politics, Planning, and the Public Interest: The Case of Public Housing in Chicago (New York: Free Press, 1955). Also in a study of public housing in Chicago, Massey and Kanaiaupuni found that projects were targeted to predominately African American neighborhoods, and thus had the effect of increasing poverty in those neighborhoods. Douglas S. Massey and Shawn M. Kanaiaupuni, “Public Housing and the Concentration of Poverty,” Social Science Quarterly 74, no. 1 (March 1993): 109–21. For Philadelphia, see John F. Bauman, Public Housing, Race, and Renewal:

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Urban Planning in Philadelphia, 1920–1974 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1987); for special attention to the early years of public housing in Philadelphia, see John F. Bauman, Norman P. Hummon, and Edward K. Muller, “Public Housing, Isolation, and the Urban Underclass: Philadelphia’s Richard Allen Homes, 1941–1965,” Journal of Urban History 17, no. 3 (May 1991): 264–92; and for a study of Boston’s public housing program, see Jon Pynoos, Breaking the Rules: Bureaucracy and Reform in Public Housing (New York: Plenum Press, 1986). 55. Meyerson and Banﬁeld, Politics, 1955, 121. 56. Mittie Olion Chandler, “Public Housing Desegregation: What are the Options?” Housing Policy Debate 3, no. 2 (1992), 515. 57. For a comprehensive review of the policies of the federal government during this period which contributed to residential segregation, see Douglas S. Massey and Nancy A. Denton, American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993), especially chapter 2; and Kenneth T. Jackson, Crabgrass Frontier: The Suburbanization of the United States (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985). 58. Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority, Statement of Policies and Procedures Governing Admission to and Occupancy in Federal Developments Operated by the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority, 13 February 1953. 59. Ibid., 1. 60. The Ellicott district, consisting of census tracts 12, 13, 14, 15, 25, and 26, was 39.6 percent African American according to the 1950 census. Even the ﬁfth ward, one of Ellicott’s three wards and the heart of the African American community, was still roughly 32 percent white in 1950. 61. Shelley v. Kramer, 334 U.S. 1 (1948). 62. Massey and Denton, American Apartheid, 1993, 36. 63. Laws of New York, Chapter 340, 1955. Speciﬁcally, the law created a state agency “with power to eliminate and prevent discrimination in employment, in places of public accommodation, resort or amusement and in publicly-assisted housing accommodations because of race, creed, color, or national origin.” 64. Bauman, Public Housing, 1987, 171.

Chapter Five 1. Martin Anderson, The Federal Bulldozer: A Critical Analysis of Urban Renewal, 1949–1962 (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1964) 41.

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2. Ibid., 8. 3. There is an extensive literature on the subject of urban renewal, much of it quite critical. For comprehensive reviews of the program, see James Q. Wilson, ed., Urban Renewal: The Record and the Controversy (Cambridge: M.I.T. Press, 1966); and Scott Greer, Urban Renewal and American Cities: The Dilemma of Democratic Intervention (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1965). For critical accounts, see Jane Jacobs, The Death and Life of Great American Cities (New York: Vintage, 1961); Herbert J. Gans, “ The Failure of Urban Renewal,” in Wilson, 1966, 537–57; and Anderson, Federal Bulldozer, 1962. On the subject of displacement of businesses by urban renewal, see Basil G. Zimmer, Rebuilding Cities: The Effect of Displacement and Relocation on Small Business (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1964). On the displacement of residents, see Marc Fried, “Grieving for a Lost Home,” in Leonard J. Duhl, ed., The Urban Condition: People and Policy in the Metropolis (New York: Basic, 1963): 151–71; and Chester Hartman, “A Comment on the HHFA Study of Relocation,” in Wilson, 1966, 353–58. For the politics of urban renewal, see Harold Kaplan, Urban Renewal Politics: Slum Clearance in Newark (New York: Columbia University Press, 1963); Robert A. Dahl, Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1961): 115–40; G. William Domhoff, Who Really Rules: New Haven and Community Power Reexamined (New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, 1978): 1– 120; and John H. Mollenkopf, The Contested City (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1983): 139–212. 4. Courier Express, 19 October 1951. 5. Buffalo Evening News, 12 October 1951. 6. Courier Express, 19 October 1951. 7. Buffalo Evening News, 19 November 1951. 8. William L. Evans, The Twenty-Seventh Annual Report of the Buffalo Urban League, Inc., 1954; Buffalo Urban League, Inc., Annual Report for 1959. On one of the sites, 80 percent of the displaced residents were black, on the other, 64 percent were African American. 9. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 24 June 1952. 10. At the time, the city had already entered into a contract with the federal government to study urban redevelopment, and the BMHA was originally the local agency designated to undertake redevelopment plans. As Mruk pointed out in his veto, however, the U.S. Division of Slum Clearance and Urban Redevelopment had recently ruled that local housing authorities could not act under Title I of the 1949 Housing Act as local redevelopment agencies, which prompted the mayor to appoint a temporary redevelopment committee to study the issue.

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11. Buffalo Planning Board, Real Property Survey and Low Income Housing Area Survey, Buffalo, New York, 1939. 12. Norman Krumholz, “Redevelopment in Buffalo’s Ellicott District: The Politics of Urban Renewal” (Master’s thesis, Cornell University, 1965), l29. 13. Buffalo Evening News, 27 July 1951. 14. Buffalo Evening News, 16 October 1951. 15. Buffalo Evening News, 18 October 1951. 16. BMHA, Ellicott Relocation: Objectives, Experience, and Appraisal, 1961, 2. 17. Temporary State Housing Commission, People, Housing, and Rent Control, 1956, 7, 8. 18. Peter B. Bart and Louis Kraar, “Rising Negro Inﬂux Stirs Trouble for Harried Civic Planners,” Wall Street Journal, 7 April 1958. 19. Buffalo Evening News, 23 January 1952. 20. Temporary State Housing Commission, 1956, 1. 21. Out of necessity blacks began to migrate north and east from the lower east side during the early 1950s because of the substantial increases in the African American population. This movement was very much conﬁned, however. 22. Evans, Twenty-Seventh, 1954. 23. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1955, 19, 34–36. 24. The role of the planning commission, which had had African American members on and off for several years, was very much secondary in the process of redevelopment. 25. Krumholz, 1965, “Redevelopment,” 43. 26. Sedita won by only sixty-one votes, defeating his Republican opponent 72,304 votes to 72,243. 27. On several occasions in the past, Republican council members opposed public housing and redevelopment on ideological grounds, arguing that such programs unjustiﬁably interfered with the market. 28. Buffalo Urban League, 1959, 6. 29. BMHA, 1961, 31. 30. Ibid., 18. 31. Ibid., 55.

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32. For example, Kaplan found this pattern of relocation in his account of urban renewal in Newark. Kaplan, 1963, Urban Renewal Politics, 57–158. 33. BMHA, Supplement To: Ellicott Relocation: Objectives, Experience, and Appraisal, March 1962. In the nearly 130-page document on the Ellicott district relocation project published in 1961, the BMHA went to great lengths to discuss how most whites relocated by the project were moved into white neighborhoods, whereas the great majority of blacks were moved into neighborhoods that already possessed large numbers of African American residents, more than likely in an effort to assure white neighborhoods around the city that blacks would not be moved into their neighborhoods because of redevelopment. 34. In relocating residents, the BMHA worked with a number of private real estate agents, who, the evidence strongly suggests, deliberately engaged in the practice of steering both black and white residents in need of new housing. 35. BMHA, 1961, 25. 36. Ibid., 65. 37. Estimates published at the time of the redevelopment project regarding the number of businesses forced to move varied somewhat, but were all quite close to 250. A count of all the businesses in the redevelopment area that were listed in the 1958 Buffalo City Directory revealed that the 250 estimate was accurate. Different estimates probably resulted from the fact that a few of the businesses in the redevelopment area were, in all likelihood, either going out of business or moving already by the time the city began to acquire the properties in 1959. 38. Speciﬁcally, the Criterion estimated that 103 of the businesses in the redevelopment area were black owned. Buffalo Criterion, 3 August 1957. 39. Mark Goldman, High Hopes: The Rise and Decline of Buffalo, New York (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983), 288. This point was also conﬁrmed by interview data. 40. Buffalo Criterion, 28 June 1958. 41. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 7 January 1964. 42. In 1972, nearly 20 years after the passage of the antiblockbusting ordinance, the common council was informed by the Buffalo Citizens Council on Human Relations (a nongovernmental group) that there was fairly widespread noncompliance with the ordinance by local realtors. Acting on this information, the council directed the commission on human relations to devise an educational program for homeowners and real estate agents

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regarding the ordinance’s provisions and to develop a procedure for investigating alleged violations. 43. Two of the federal developments—Willert Park and Commodore Perry—had extensions built on them since their original construction. 44. BMHA, Summary of Annual Reexamination of Tenants: 1960, 1960. 45. Ibid. The BMHA reported that in 1960, the original Commodore Perry apartments had 18.9 percent African American occupancy and the extension had 30.1 percent African American occupancy. 46. BMHA, The Story of Dante Place: Public Housing, Race Relations, Urban Renewal, and Community Responsibility, 1960, 1. 47. Ibid. 48. Ibid., 2. 49. 1960 census data clearly illustrate that Main Street was still very much a residential boundary for Buffalo’s African American population. Aside from the tract in which Dante Place was located, tract 72, where 2,454 blacks lived, only 1,704 African Americans, or 2.7 percent of the city’s total black population, lived in the twenty-six other tracts located entirely west of Main Street. 50. BMHA, The Story of Dante Place, 5. 51. “Matter of Conversion of Dante Place to Middle Income Cooperative Housing,” Minutes of the BMHA Board Meeting, 13 November 1959. 52. BMHA, “Roster of Former Members of the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority,” in Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority Proﬁle, 1996. 53. BMHA, The Story of Dante Place, 5. 54. Ibid., 5, 7. 55. Chelcy v. BMHA, 206 N.Y.S. 2d. 158 (1960). 56. Ibid., 169. 57. Ibid., 169, 170. 58. Until recently, just 33 out of 616 apartments at Marine Drive consisted of African American households. A report of the New York State Inspector General found that “Marine Drive Apartments is not in compliance with the legal income limit, occupancy standards and fair housing marketing requirements contained in DHCR’s Occupancy Regulations, Part 1727, Management Manual for Housing Companies.” State of New York, Ofﬁce of the Inspector General, Report of Investigation Concerning Inadequate Program Management, 1995, 11, 14. Further, a recent investigation by the Buffalo News found that many of the residents at Marine Drive have had political connections, either through city jobs or relatives.

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59. For instance, the Kowal administration demanded that full cellars be constructed in all of the new units, requested more variety in design, and argued that every unit should have a front yard facing the street. Hamilton immediately began work on the Kowal administration’s demands. 60. Quoted in Jon C. Teaford, The Rough Road to Renaissance: Urban Revitalization in America, 1940–1985 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 156. 61. In 1962, of the fourteen precincts total, precincts 3, 4, 6, and 8, which comprised the majority of the two districts, had the highest reported rates of burglary, robbery, and car theft in the city. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1962, 1963, 47. 62. Ibid., 47. Percentages converted from numerical data provided in reports. 63. U.S. Department of Commerce, Bureau of the Census, Special Census of Erie County, New York (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Ofﬁce, 1966). 64. Ibid. The total population of tracts 12, 13, 14, 15, 25, 26, and 31 decreased from 65,690 in 1960 to 53,158 in 1966, which constituted a 19 percent loss in population. 65. In tracts 16, 17, and 18, all of which were located in the Lovejoy district immediately to the east of Ellicott, the negligible black population went from ﬁfty-seven residents in 1960 to sixty-four residents in 1966, thus clearly illustrating the eastward limitations to black residential movement. 66. Census tracts 1–10, which comprised all of south Buffalo, had 51,320 total residents in 1966, of which 273 were nonwhite. Four of these tracts (1, 6, 7, and 9) had 20,132 total residents, of which none were nonwhite. 67. The lack of movement of the African American community west of Main Street can be partially attributed to the increased cost of some of the housing there. This residential pattern was therefore not entirely attributable to racial discrimination per se. 68. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 9 March 1965.

Chapter Six 1. For an overview of Alisnky’s approach to community organizing, see Saul D. Alinsky, Rules for Radicals: A Pragmatic Primer for Realistic Radicals (New York: Vintage Books, 1971). 2. The origins of BUILD are discussed in Joan E. Lancourt, Confront or Concede: The Alinsky Citizen Action Organizations (Lexington, MA: D.C.

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Heath and Co., 1979): 22–26. Raymond Owen has examined BUILD more in-depth, including the attitudes of its members and of the black community toward the organization, as well as BUILD’s tactics and the speciﬁc projects it undertook. Raymond Edward Owen, “Community Organization and Participatory Democracy: A Study of the Ghetto Corporation” (Ph.D. diss., State University of New York at Buffalo, 1971). 3. Mark Goldman, High Hopes: The Rise and Decline of Buffalo, New York (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1983), 249. 4. Ibid., 251. An interesting and thorough account of the events of the site selection of the SUNY campus is Pierre McAloon, “Corridor” (Documentary ﬁlm, Department of Media Study, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1995). 5. Business First, The Top 25 of 1995: A Supplement of Business First, 38. 6. The origins of the Kensington Expressway can be found in a report completed in 1953 for the New York State Department of Public Works. Madigan–Hyland, Consulting Engineers, Kensington Expressway, Arterial Improvement, Downtown Buffalo to Airport, 1953. While construction did not begin until 1960, the highway’s path and architectural characteristics are almost identical to the recommendations made in this report. 7. One study conducted in the late 1960s, which grouped Milwaukee and Buffalo together in the same data set, and was based on surveys in both cities, found several different reasons for individuals moving to the suburbs, among which the most common was “housing related.” Amos H. Hawley and Basil G. Zimmer, The Metropolitan Community: Its People and Government (Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 1970), 32. The possible motivations for suburbanization which individuals were asked to select from in this survey, however, were quite general, and did not include anything as speciﬁc as highway or road construction. My argument about highway construction being one of several causes of white ﬂight to the suburbs, then, is ultimately conjecture. Certainly highways were a reason for moving to the suburbs for individuals not living in neighborhoods where the new expressways were located in that they made travel between the city and suburbs much more convenient. But given the magnitude of the expressway system, and the number of individuals who moved to the suburbs during the 1960s, it seems reasonable to conclude that at least some moved because they were either displaced by the new highways or because they did not wish to live in the immediate vicinity of a major expressway. 8. Mark Goldman, City on the Lake: The Challenge of Change in Buffalo, New York (Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 1990), 268, 269. 9. Urban historian Raymond Mohl found that in the 1950s, Miami’s black newspaper and Urban League branch supported the construction of

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Interstate 95, despite the fact that it went directly through an African American community. Raymond A. Mohl, “Race and Space in Miami,” in Arnold A. Hirsch and Raymond A. Mohl, eds., Urban Policy in Twentieth Century America (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1993): 116–18. 10. The National Advisory Commission on Civil Disorders, The Kerner Report (Washington: 1 March 1968). 11. Ibid., 164. 12. Ibid., 1. 13. Frank P. Besag, Anatomy of a Riot: Buffalo ‘67 (Buffalo: University Press at Buffalo, 1967): 13–24. Besag, a professor of the sociology of education at the State University of New York at Buffalo, researched and wrote Anatomy of a Riot immediately after the 1967 disturbances. The book is based on formal records, media reports, eye witness accounts of residents and police ofﬁcers, and interviews with residents who were not directly involved, and is the most complete account of the events of unrest in the city that year. 14. The federal Model Cities Program, based on the Demonstration Cities and Metropolitan Development Act of 1966, differed from urban renewal in that it was less tightly regulated and emphasized citizen participation in planning projects. Buffalo’s model neighborhood area was fairly large geographically, and was bounded by Swan and Seneca Streets along the southern edge, Smith and Herman Streets along the eastern edge until the corner of Best Street and Herman, at which point Best became the boundary until Jefferson Avenue, which constituted the remaining part of the eastern boundary. The model neighborhood’s northern boundary was East Delavan Avenue, and the western boundary was Main Street as far south as Goodell Street, continued along Goodell until Oak Street, which constituted the rest of the western boundary. City of Buffalo, Model Cities Program: Buffalo, New York, Part I, 1969, 93. 15. Besag, Anatomy, 1967, 15. Just after the unrest in May, the steering committee of the Woodlawn education information center (a storefront educational center located on the east side administered by the Cooperative Urban Extension Center of the State University of New York at Buffalo), issued a report which documented the events of the disturbances and warned of possible future rioting. The report was sent to political, community, educational, and welfare leaders. 16. Ibid., 16. 17. Ibid., 55. 18. Ibid., 23.

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19. Both unemployment and underemployment in areas where rioting took place were much higher than other areas of the city. For example, of the eight predominantly African American census tracts, only one had an unemployment rate of less than 11 percent, with the rate in one tract being over 20 percent. In direct contrast to this was the fact that only twelve of the remaining 174 predominantly white census tracts in Erie County had unemployment rates as high as 11 percent. Alan R. Andreasen, Inner City Business: A Case Study of Buffalo, New York (New York: Praeger, 1971), 55, 202. 20. Besag, Anatomy, 1967, 56. 21. Ibid., 56. 22. Ibid., 57. 23. Stephen Steinberg, Turning Back: The Retreat From Racial Justice in American Thought and Policy (Boston: Beacon Press, 1995), 79. 24. Social unrest was only one cause of white suburbanization, however. As Robert Huckfeldt has argued, “white ﬂight is a complex response growing out of security needs, social attraction and assimilation, as well as social conﬂict.” Robert Huckfeldt, Politics in Context: Assimilation and Conﬂict in Urban Neighborhoods (New York: Agathon Press, 1986), 103. 25. Section 1982 of the Civil Rights Act of 1866 held that “all citizens of the United States shall have the same right, in every State and Territory, as is enjoyed by the white citizens thereof to inherit, purchase, lease, sell, hold, and convey real and personal property.” But the 1866 statute created no enforcement mechanism, so presumably any individual trying to invoke its coverage would be forced to ﬁle suit in federal court. The 1866 law was not interpreted until the mid-twentieth century, at which time the Supreme Court ruled in Hurd v. Hodge that the statute applied only to discrimination by the state, not by private individuals. Hurd v. Hodge, 334 U.S. 24 (1948). 26. Laws of New York, Chapter 414, 1961. 27. “Governor’s Legislative Memorandum,” Laws of New York, 11 April 1961. 28. Laws of New York, Chapter 481, 1963. 29. Title VIII of the 1968 Civil Rights Act was the ﬁrst substantial federal initiative aimed at combating private housing discrimination. 30. This is an estimate. To actually calculate this ﬁgure, one would have to divide the amount of residential lot space of all the owner-occupied housing by the amount of residential lot space in total. Given the amount of time that gathering this data would take, I have used an estimate which, if anything, is conservatively low. 31. Support from the religious community for open housing should not be exaggerated, however. While many religious organizations ofﬁcially

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supported the idea of a fair housing ordinance, much of the strongest support came from several small Protestant sects (particularly Quakers and Presbyterians), Jewish organizations, and the Unitarian Universalist church. Support from the leaders of the Catholic Church, which represented by a substantial amount the largest religious community in Buffalo, while present, often did not reﬂect the support of rank and ﬁle Catholics. An informative discussion of the role of the religious community in the open housing movement, in Buffalo and elsewhere, is James Hecht, Because It Is Right: Integration in Housing (Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1970), chapter 6. 32. Jones v. Mayer, 392 U.S. 409 (1968). 33. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 19 November 1968. 34. Courier Express, 10 July 1968. 35. Jill Quadagno, The Color of Welfare: How Racism Undermined the War on Poverty (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), 110. 36. Public Law 90-284, April 11, 1968. The law’s exemptions were actually more broad than the New York State law, as Title VIII provided exemptions for all owner-occupied housing with less than ﬁve units. 37. Jon C. Teaford, The Rough Road to Renaissance: Urban Revitalization in America, 1940–1985 (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1990), 196. 38. In 1976, when the desegregation decision was handed down, the city was approximately 65 percent Catholic. Judy Scales-Trent, “A Judge Shapes and Manages Institutional Reform: School Desegregation in Buffalo,” New York University Review of Law and Social Change 17, no. 1 (1989–1990), 143. Considering the factor of white suburbanization, in conjunction with the fact that the vast majority of Catholics were white and that African American Catholics were few in number, it is reasonable to conclude that the percentage of Catholics in the city in 1969 was even higher, probably around 70 percent. 39. Buffalo Evening News, 11 December 1968. 40. This area extended from Main Street east to Smith Street, and from South Park Avenue north to approximately Virginia Street. My estimate is based on a comparison of the number of residential units in census tracts 12, 13, 14, 15, 25, and 26 between 1960 and 1970. (By 1970, tract 13 had become tracts 13.01 and 13.02, 14 had become 14.01 and 14.02, and 25 had become 25.01 and 25.02.) 41. The 1970 census showed that 18.4 percent and 15.4 percent of the housing in tracts 13.02 and 14.02 was overcrowded. These rates were much higher than almost every other tract in the city. 42. Andreasen, Inner City, 1971, 42.

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43. The area under investigation in the Andreasen study was approximately nineteen blocks wide. To compare with vacancy rates elsewhere in the city, I therefore examined nineteen-block stretches of the following streets: the southern commercial strip was South Park Avenue between Abbott Road and the southern border of the city; the northern commercial strip was Hertel Avenue between Main Street and Delaware Avenue; and the western commercial strip was Grant Street between Military Road and Hampshire Street. To calculate the vacancy rates on these streets, I divided the total number of vacant properties listed along each street by the total number of properties listed. All of the data was collected from the 1969–1970 Buffalo City Directory. There are residential properties located along the sections of the streets examined, so some of the properties listed in the directory as vacant may actually have been vacant residences rather than vacant commercial properties. Consequently the percentages I have obtained could more accurately be labeled vacancy rates along commercial strips as opposed to commercial vacancy rates. The ﬁgures, however, still provide an indication of the distinct differences that were emerging between the near east side and other areas of the city. 44. Buffalo Evening News, 25 October 1974. 45. Andreasen, Inner City, 1971, 54. Of the 1,064 businesses in the study area, 527, or 49.6 percent, were owned by whites, while 537, or 50.4 percent, were owned by African Americans. 46. Ibid., 201. 47. Ibid., 54. 48. Ibid., 54. 49. Ibid., 202. 50. Ibid., 203. Speciﬁcally, about 25 percent of the white business owners (and a small number of black business owners) stressed their intention to “probably” or “deﬁnitely” sell or close their business in the “next couple of years.” The two most common reasons given for this were personnel and problems related to “the area.” 51. Buffalo Criterion, 11–17 November 1969. 52. For example, in 1972, forty-three of sixty-three murders (69 percent), and 520 of 824 armed robberies (63 percent), occurred in precincts 4, 6, 8, and 12. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1972, 35. And in 1973, forty-eight of sixty-seven murders (77 percent), and 472 of 811 of armed robberies (58 percent), occurred in these four precincts. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1973, 34. 53. This ﬁgure is based on data from census tracts 12, 13, 14, 15, 25, and 26—the tracts that made up the Ellicott district in 1960. After the 1970 reapportionment, the boundaries of the Ellicott district were changed.

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The previous northern boundary was moved south, and the western boundary, which had always been ﬁxed at Main Street, was extended west to include downtown and a small section of the lower west side. 54. My assessment of the eastward movement of the black community is generally limited to the area south of Broadway. With the exception of the neighborhood north of Broadway, east of Fillmore and south of Walden, in which the black population remained negligible, there was much more eastward movement north of Broadway. For example, in 1970, census tracts 16, 17, and 18, which are located south of Broadway and directly to the east of the lower east side, still had only three hundred African Americans out of a total population of 13,857 residents. But in tracts 34 and 35, located further to the north, 10,892 out of 17,430 total residents were African American. So eastward expansion did occur in some neighborhoods. Southern migration, however, did not occur at all. Census tracts 4 and 5—located along the northern edge of south Buffalo—had only fortyseven African Americans out of 5,571 total residents in 1970. The construction of the New York State Thruway in the late 50s, part of which cuts directly through this area, further solidiﬁed the racial boundary between south Buffalo and the east side. 55. The 1970 census revealed that only 4,070 out of 94,329, or 4 percent, of the city’s black population lived in all of the thirty-two tracts located entirely west of Main Street. 56. The federal government did not establish an ofﬁcial poverty rate until the Johnson administration, so 1970 was the ﬁrst time poverty measures were incorporated into the census. 57. This information is based on the number of individuals living below the poverty line in each tract. Using this measure, the tracts that had the highest rates of poverty included 3, 12, 13.01, 13.02, 14.01, 14.02, 15, 25.01, 25.02, 26, 31, 32.01, 32.02, 33.02, 68, 71.01, 71.02, and 72.01. The 13 east side tracts were 12, 13.01, 13.02, 14.01, 14.02, 15, 25.01, 25.02, 26, 31, 32.01, and 32.02. 58. BMHA, Summary, Annual Survey of Tenants: 1970. 59. Ibid. The following are the percentages of nonwhite populations at each of these four developments: Lakeview, 33.6 percent; Jasper Parrish, 24.7 percent; Shaffer Village, 8.2 percent; and LaSalle, 4.0 percent. 60. Buffalo Evening News, 11 October 1974. 61. Gary Orﬁeld, “Federal Policy, Local Power, and Metropolitan Segregation,” Political Science Quarterly 89, no. 4 (winter 1974–75), 777, 778. 62. The stadium’s age and shoddy condition, however, proved to be an asset several years later. In 1983, after looking all over the United States for a baseball stadium resembling those of the 1930s, ﬁlm director Barry Levinson decided to use War Memorial for the ﬁlming of The Natural, starring Robert Redford, the details of which are discussed in Anthony

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Violanti, Miracle in Buffalo: How the Dream of Baseball Revived a City (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1991): 80–96. 63. The loss of industrial jobs began to receive national media attention during the middle 1970s. For example, the New York Times Magazine ran a cover story about unemployment in Buffalo early in 1975. The article, prepared by members of the American Studies Program at UB, was entitled “Down and Out in America,” New York Times Magazine, 9 February 1975.

Chapter Seven 1. Grover Cleveland was Mayor of Buffalo in 1882, before going on to be New York State Governor and U.S. President. 2. Brown v. Board of Education, 347 U.S. 483 (1954). The companion decision, Brown II, handed down a year later in 1955, dealt with the implementation of school desegregation. Brown v. Board of Education, 349 U.S. 294 (1955). 3. George R. Metcalf, From Little Rock to Boston: The History of School Desegregation (Westport, CN: Greenwood, 1983), 130. 4. Gerald N. Rosenberg, The Hollow Hope: Can Courts Bring About Social Change? (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 52. 5. Arthur v. Nyquist, 415 F. Supp. 904 (1976). 6. Ibid., 911. This is a list of only the major allegations. 7. Ibid., 916. For instance, ﬁfty-ﬁve out of seventy-seven elementary schools, ﬁve out of six junior high and middle schools, and seven out of thirteen high schools were between 80 percent and 100 percent one race. 8. The case relied upon most heavily in the original Arthur decision was Keyes v. School District No. 1, 413 U.S. 189 (1973). 9. The changes in attendance policies involved making the students residing in the area to the east of East High, almost all of whom were white, attend either South Park High to the south or Kensington High to the north. 415 F. Supp. 904, 924. 10. Optional attendance zones were geographic areas in which students had a choice about which school to attend. All of the high schools had optional zones. 11. 415 F. Supp. 904, 919. Of the students who attended East in 1973, 99 percent were African American. 12. East High was located on Northampton Street, between Fillmore and East Parade.

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13. 415 F. Supp. 904, 923. In 1966, for example, Kensington was 98 percent white and South Park was 94 percent white. While the racial composition of Kensington did change by the middle 1970s, becoming 43 percent black, South Park remained a predominantly white school until the period leading up to the desegregation order, having a black student population of only 12 percent. 14. Ibid., 926. 15. Ibid., 927. 16. Ibid., 927. In 1963, a report by the U.S. Civil Rights Commission raised this question as a possible contributor to the increasing segregation of East High. 17. Ibid., 930. 18. Ibid., 930. 19. This site was located at Northland, Purdy, and Alexander Streets. 20. 415 F. Supp. 904, 932. 21. Ibid., 932. 22. Ibid., 933. 23. The 1960 census showed that in census tracts 65B and 66B—the two census tracts whose eastern borders were Main Street itself and were adjacent to the area in question—only nine persons out of a total population of 6,880 were African American. 24. For example, the directors of the Buffalo Diocesan Catholic Council on Civil Liberties passed a resolution calling for “full integration of the Woodlawn Junior High School under a program which will bring about community good will and help reduce the evil of racism in our local life.” Quoted in Buffalo Evening News, 25 March 1964. 25. Dr. Lydia Wright, Papers (University Archives, State University of New York at Buffalo). 26. Ibid. 27. 415 F. Supp. 904, 934. 28. Ibid., 934. 29. Ibid., 934. 30. Ibid., 939. The evidence showed that the system of transfers allowed between two thousand and four thousand white students annually to attend schools outside the zone in which they lived. 31. Ibid., 940.

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32. Ibid., 941. 33. Ibid., 943. In 1973, for example, Fosdick Masten was 98.1 percent African American. 34. Ibid. 35. Ibid., 944, 945. Many of the predominantly black elementary schools had no black teachers at all, while the vast majority of black teachers were concentrated in predominantly African American schools. The pattern was the same for the predominantly African American junior high and high schools, both academic as well as vocational, with African American faculty being concentrated in predominantly black schools. 36. Ibid., 946. 37. Ibid. 38. Ibid., 947. 39. Ibid., 950. This appeal by several parents regarding the districting of Woodlawn was known as the “Yerby Dixon Appeal.” 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid., 951. 42. Quoted in ibid. 43. Ibid., 952. This plan was known as “Recommendations for Achieving Quality Integrated Education in the Buffalo Public Schools (QIE),” and called for the following: elementary schools from kindergarten through fourth grade to be established as neighborhood schools, allowing all students to walk to school; and ﬁfth through eighth grades to become part of a series of middle schools—some of which would be new, and others of which would be converted from existing junior high schools—but all of which would be located in peripheral neighborhoods. The racial composition of each of the middle schools would be designed to approximate the racial composition of the district as a whole, and the ninth grade district-wide would be absorbed into existing high schools. 44. Quoted in ibid., 953. 45. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 11 June 1968. Speciﬁcally, the ordinance stated that any addition to an existing school had to be constructed out of the same material as the school itself. There were two white council members absent from the session when the ordinance was originally passed, and both decided to support the override. 46. 415 F. Supp. 904, 953. 47. Ibid., 956. Apart from the usual methods of desegregation, there was also brief discussion about the possibility of creating a metropolitan

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wide school desegregation plan merging suburban and city districts, but, not surprisingly, there was little favorable response to this proposal from suburban districts. 48. Quoted in ibid. 49. Ibid., 957. 50. Ibid. 51. Ibid., 961. 52. Ibid., 961–67. 53. Arthur v. Nyquist, 573 F. 2d. 134, 146 (1978). There was some legal wrangling on the part of the defendants before the appellate court ruled on the substantive issues in the original decision. Immediately after the original district court ruling, the defendants appealed the decision, and the second circuit court of appeals found the action appealable [Arthur v. Nyquist, 547 F. 2d. 7 (1976)]. After this ruling, the defendants then moved to have the district court vacate its original ruling of liability, or to reconsider it in light of recent Supreme Court decisions. Rather than altering its original decision, however, the district court reafﬁrmed its initial ruling several months later [Arthur v. Nyquist, 429 F. Supp. 206 (1977)]. The appeals court then ruled on the speciﬁc facts of the original decision, and overturned the liability of the state defendants. 54. For an elaboration of this point, see Phillip J. Cooper, Hard Judicial Choices: Federal District Court Judges and State and Local Ofﬁcials (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988). 55. Arthur v. Nyquist, 438 U.S. 860 (1978). 56. Model City Program, Buffalo, New York, Part I, 1969, 134. 57. Ibid. 58. Buffalo Board of Education, Report of Early School Leavers, 1983– 1984. The following are the dropout rates for East High for the academic school years 1965–66 through 1970–71: 22.4 percent, 24.9 percent, 24.7 percent, 24.8 percent, 23.9 percent, and 24.8 percent. 59. Ibid.; 415 F. Supp. 904, 942. The three vocational schools with the highest dropout rates between 1965 and 1971 were Burgard, Emerson, and Fosdick Masten, which in 1971 were 41.7 percent, 45.2 percent, and 94 percent African American respectively. 60. George C. Galster and Sean P. Killen, “The Geography of Metropolitan Opportunity: A Reconnaissance and Conceptual Framework,” Housing Policy Debate 6, no. 1 (1995), 36. 61. Model City Program, 137.

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62. Judy Scales-Trent, “A Judge Shapes and Manages Institutional Reform: School Desegregation in Buffalo,” New York University Review of Law and Social Change 27, no. 1 (1989–1990), 125. 63. Christine H. Rossell, “The Buffalo Controlled Choice Plan,” Urban Education 22 (1987–88), 335. 64. In 1977, there were 117,900 registered Democrats as compared to 43,400 registered Republicans. 65. This estimate is based on the assumption that the black population grew at a consistent rate between 1970 and 1980. In 1970, the African American population was 20.4 percent, and by 1980 it had increased to 26.6 percent. 66. Donald B. Rosenthal, “Regime Change and Gay and Lesbian Politics in Four New York Cities,” in Elaine B. Sharp, ed., Culture Wars and Local Politics (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1999), 70. 67. Richard A. Keiser, “After the First Black Mayor: Fault Lines in Philadelphia’s Biracial Coalition,” in Rufus P. Browning, Dale Rogers Marshall, and David Tabb, eds., Racial Politics in American Cities, second edition (New York: Longman, 1997), 72. 68. Arthur v. Nyquist, 473 F. Supp. 830, 848 (1979). 69. Arthur v. Nyquist, 566 F. Supp. 511, 514 (1983). 70. Arthur v. Nyquist, 473 F. Supp. 830 (1979). 71. Arthur v. Nyquist, 514 F. Supp. 1133 (1981). 72. Rossell, 1987, 339. 73. Arthur v. Nyquist, 636 F. 2d. 905 (1981). 74. Ibid. 75. Arthur v. Nyquist, 514 F. Supp. 1133 (1981). 76. Ibid. 77. There have been several books, both journalistic and academic, written on the protest and violence in Boston over desegregation and the issue of busing, a sampling of which includes Jon Hillson, The Battle of Boston (New York: Pathﬁnder, 1977); R.P. Formisano, Boston Against Busing: Race, Class, and Ethnicity in the 1960s and 1970s (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1991); Alan Lupo, Liberty’s Chosen Home: The Politics of Violence in Boston (Boston: Beacon Press, 1988); and D. Garth Taylor, Public Opinion and Collective Action: The Boston School Desegregation Conﬂict (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1986).

Notes

265

78. Stephen J. L. Taylor, Desegregation in Boston in Buffalo: The Inﬂuence of Local Leaders (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998): 129–34. 79. Morgan v. Hennigan, 379 F. Supp. 410 (1974). 80. I owe this insight regarding the role of black representation in implementing desegregation to Steven Taylor. It is one of the variables that he deals with at length in his analysis of why violence accompanied desegregation in Boston but not in Buffalo. 81. Quoted in Mark Goldman, City on the Lake: The Challenge of Change in Buffalo, New York (Buffalo: Prometheus Books, 1990), 200. 82. In seventeen census tracts located west of Main Street, out of a total population of 60,895, there were 11,130 African American residents by 1980, illustrating some degree of residential expansion. These tracts included 46.01, 52.01, 53, 63.01, 63.02, 64, 65.01, 65.02, 66.01, 66.02, 68, 69, 70, 71.01, 71.02, 72.01, and 72.02. 83. In thirteen census tracts located toward the eastern edge of the central east side, although some were adjacent to black residential areas, only 3,973 out of 48,548 residents were African American. These tracts included 16, 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 28, 29, 30, 37, and 38. The same was true of the tracts making up south Buffalo, some of which also bordered black residential areas. There, only 1,629 out of 44,471 residents were African American. These tracts included 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11. 84. Buffalo Evening News, 15 April 1980. 85. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 9 December 1980. 86. This measure was calculated by examining the racial composition of the geographic area which constitutes the lower and middle east side, which is roughly equivalent to census tracts 12, 13.01, 13.02, 14.01, 14.02, 15, 25.01, 25.02, 26, 27.01, 31, 32.01, 32.02, 33.01, and 33.02. This area lost 40,621 residents between 1970 and 1980, of whom 30,885 were African American. 87. In 1980, while there were 95,116 African Americans living in the city of Buffalo, there were still only 7,831 blacks living in areas outside the city within Erie County, of whom 2,178 lived in Lackawanna, the small city to the immediate south of Buffalo. 88. In 1975, for example, out of fourteen precincts citywide, the four precincts covering this geographic area (4, 6, 8, and 12) had 62 percent of the city’s murders and 60 percent of the city’s armed robberies. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1975. In 1980, the same area had 52 percent of the city’s murders and 73 percent of the city’s armed robberies. Annual Report of the Buffalo Police Department: 1980.

266

Notes

Chapter Eight 1. Grifﬁn quickly became famous for his remarks and commentary on a variety of topics, which prompted local journalist Brian Meyer to author two books of Grifﬁn’s comments. David Breslawski and Brian Meyer, The World According to Grifﬁn (Buffalo: Western New York Wares, Inc., 1985); and Brian Meyer, The World According to Grifﬁn: The End of an Era (Buffalo: Western New York Wares, Inc., 1993). 2. BMHA, Annual Survey of Tenants, Federal and State, and Summary of Annual Survey, 1980. 3. Ibid. Ellicott Mall had 99 percent black occupancy, while Douglass Towers was 100 percent African American . 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid. In 1980, only Douglass, the Commodore Perry Extension, and Price Courts/Extension had signiﬁcant numbers of elderly black residents (those sixty years of age and over), with 22.7, 32.9, and 32.9 percent respectively. The remaining predominantly African American developments, including Ellicott Mall, Ferry Grider, Kensington Heights, Commodore Perry, Kenﬁeld, and Lang Field had 10.6, 13.5, 8.8, 10.3, 6.4, and 7.3 percent elderly black residents respectively. In 1980 the BMHA operated ﬁve other, small developments that were speciﬁcally designated as federally aided apartments for the elderly, but as of that year, this group of apartments collectively had a nonwhite population of only 27 percent. 6. For an insightful look at life growing up in urban public housing, see Alex Kotlowitz, There Are No Children Here: The Story of Two Boys Growing Up in the Other America (New York: Doubleday, 1991). 7. Quoted in Buffalo News, 24 December 1985. 8. Business First, 6 October 1986. 9. A few cities had actually begun the process of demolishing highrise public housing several years earlier, such as St. Louis, which began razing the Pruitt-Igoe Apartments in 1973. 10. For example, in 1981 the Grifﬁn administration appealed the ruling approving phase IIIx calling for the increased use of busing [Arthur v. Nyquist, 661 F. 2d. 907 (1981)]. After the second circuit court of appeals upheld the order, Grifﬁn appealed it to the U. S. Supreme Court, which refused to review the case [Grifﬁn v. Arthur, 454 U.S. 1085 (1981)]. In 1982, the Grifﬁn administration, along with the common council, attempted to withhold funds that the board of education requested, some of which were intended to use for the continued implementation of desegregation. This issue also wound up in court, which ruled in favor of the board [Arthur v. Nyquist, 547 F. Supp. 468 (1982) ].

Notes

267

11. Quoted in Meyer, 1993, 86. 12. The ﬁgures were reported in the Buffalo News, 6 November 1985. As of October 26, the Grifﬁn campaign had reported spending nearly $400,000 as compared to less than $200,000 that had been spent by Arthur. 13. Federal Home Loan Bank Board and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, Analysis of Home Mortgage Disclosure Act Data from Three Standard Metropolitan Areas (Washington: January 1980). 14. Housing Opportunities Made Equal, “Testimony Before Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan on the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority” (Buffalo: 28 November 1987). 15. Ibid., 3. 16. Ibid., 3. 17. John Yinger, Closed Doors, Opportunities Lost: The Continuing Costs of Housing Discrimination (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1995), 214. 18. There were also approximately one thousand additional vacant units in developments that were supposedly going to be renovated. 19. Northeast-Midwest Senate Coalition, An Overview of Federal Housing Programs: A Case Study of the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority (Washington: 20 March 1988). 20. Ibid., 15. 21. Ibid. Minorities accounted for 71 percent of BMHA tenants, but only 26 percent of the authority’s employees were minorities, and less than 3 percent of the ﬁfty-six top management positions were held by minority individuals. 22. Ibid., 17. 23. Comer v. Kemp, CIV 89-1556C (1989). 24. Michael Hanley, “Comer Inches Along,” Neighborhood Legal Services Journal (July/August 1992), 9. 25. Hills v. Gautreaux, 425 U.S. 284 (1976). 26. Yinger, Closed Doors, 1995, 152, 153. 27. Ibid., 153. 28. Joe T. Darden, “Choosing Neighbors and Neighborhoods: The Role of Race in Housing Preference,” in Gary A. Tobin, ed., Divided Neighborhoods: Changing Patterns of Racial Segregation (Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1987): 25–28. 29. Buffalo News, 24 April 1988.

268

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30. Buffalo News, 25 January 1989. 31. Just one year later, according to the 1990 census, in the eleven tracts that made up south Buffalo (tracts 1 through 11), out of a total of 40,731 residents, 182 were African American; out of 19,024 residents living in a section of the far east side (in tracts 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, and 30), 181 were African American; and in a section of the northern part of the city stretching from north Buffalo west to the Black Rock/Riverside neighborhoods (in tracts 48, 49, 50, 51, 55, 56, 57, 58, and 59), only 1,401 out of 42,327 residents were African American. 32. Buffalo News, 25 January 1989. 33. The events of the construction of Pilot Field are described in detail in Anthony Violanti, Miracle in Buffalo: How the Dream of Baseball Revived a City (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1991). Originally called Pilot Field, since its opening, the stadium’s name has been changed twice, ﬁrst to North Americare Park, and more recently to Dunn Tire Park. 34. Voting against the measure were Delaware district member Alfred Coppolla and at-large member Clifford Bell. A vote which took place the same day authorizing the use of UDAG funds to support the ﬁnancing of the stadium, while still passing, received more opposition with four of thirteen council members voting against it, including Coppolla, Bell, and James Pitts and David Collins, who represented the Ellicott and Masten districts respectively. Proceedings of the Buffalo Common Council, 23 July 1985. 35. Four years earlier, for example, the implementation of school desegregation was heralded by the New York Times, which labeled Buffalo “a national model of integration.” Michael Winerip, “School Integration in Buffalo is Hailed as a Model for U.S.,” New York Times, 13 May 1985. 36. There is a general consensus among scholars that desegregated schools improve the performance of minority students while not substantially changing the performance of white students. For a review of this literature, see Gerald David Williams and Robin M. Williams, eds., A Common Destiny: Blacks in American Society (Washington: National Academy Press, 1989). For a discussion of the long-term beneﬁts of desegregated schools on minority individuals, see Amy Stuart Wells and Robert L. Crain, “Perpetuation Theory and Long-Term Effects of School Desegregation,” Review of Educational Research 64, no. 4 (1994): 531–55. 37. Carol Herwood, Dropout Study: Seven Year Report, 1994, 17–23. Speciﬁcally, dropout rates among African American students from the 1986– 87 through the 1992–93 school years were 4.4 percent, 4.3 percent, 5.3 percent, 5.7 percent, 3.9 percent, 3.4 percent, and 4.7 percent respectively. 38. Ibid., 2. Between the 1986–87 and 1992–93 school years, dropout rates for the entire BPSS were 4.5 percent, 4.7 percent, 5.5 percent, 6.2 percent, 3.7 percent, 3.1 percent, and 4.2 percent respectively.

Notes

269

39. Buffalo Board of Education, A Comparison of Achievement Test Scores for the 1975–76 and 1987–88 School Years. Between these two school years, in terms of the percent of students above the state reference point, there were 17.6 percent and 54.7 percent increases for reading test scores among third and sixth graders respectively as well as 21.8 percent and 72.2 percent increases in math test scores for third and sixth graders. 40. Buffalo Board of Education, Annual Report of the Buffalo Board of Education: 1988, 9. 41. This loss of population was much smaller than had occurred between 1970 and 1980 (22.7 percent), and between 1960 and 1970 (13.1 percent). 42. Among fourteen tracts located in this area, poverty rates increased in nine, many reaching as high as close to 50 percent. 43. For discussions of mayoral leadership, see Clarence N. Stone, “Political Leadership in Urban Politics,” in David Judge, Gerry Stoker, and Harold Wolman, eds., Theories of Urban Politics (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995): 96–116; and Barbara Ferman, Governing the Ungovernable City: Political Skill, Leadership, and the Modern Mayor (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1985). 44. Because of the change in presidential administrations, and subsequent changes in HUD secretaries, the name of the case changed, ﬁrst becoming Comer v. Cisneros, and then during the settlement phase, Comer v. Cuomo. 45. John Goering, Ali Kamley, and Todd Richardson, “Recent Research on Racial Segregation and Poverty Concentration in Public Housing in the United States,” Urban Affairs Review 32, no. 5 (May 1997): 723–45. 46. For an informative discussion of redevelopment of abandoned or deteriorated public housing, see Lawrence J. Vale, “Public Housing Redevelopment: Seven Kinds of Success,” Housing Policy Debate 7, no. 3 (1996): 491–534. 47. Buffalo Beat, 5–11 September 1997.

Chapter Nine 1. John H. Mollenkopf, “Introduction,” in John H. Mollenkopf, ed., Power, Culture, and Place: Essays on New York City (New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 1988), xiv. 2. There has been an ongoing debate within urban policy circles about the relative merits of policies aimed at people versus policies aimed at places. For an informative discussion of this debate, see Susan F. Fainstein

270

Notes

and Ann Markusen, “The Urban Policy Challenge: Integrating Across Social and Economic Development Policy,” in John Charles Boger and Judith Welch Wegner, eds., Race, Poverty, and American Cities (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1996): 142–65. 3. David Rusk, Cities Without Suburbs, second edition (Washington: Woodrow Wilson Center Press, 1995), 1. 4. A debate has developed in recent years within the ﬁeld of African American politics which centers around the question of whether race or class is a more signiﬁcant determiner of black political behavior. In light of the continued strong presence of racial living patterns, which more closely links the interests of a large percentage of African Americans, I suggest that race as opposed to class continues to be the primary inﬂuence on African American political behavior and public opinion. The most comprehensive examination of this question is Michael C. Dawson, Behind the Mule: Race and Class in African American Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994). 5. For an insightful analysis of critiques of pluralism, see John Hull Mollenkopf, A Phoenix in the Ashes: The Rise and Fall of the Koch Coalition in New York City Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992): 26–37. 6. Todd Swanstrom, “Beyond Economism: Urban Political Economy and the Postmodern Challenge,”Journal of Urban Affairs 15, no. 1 (1993), 57. 7. David Judge, Gerry Stoker, and Harold Wolman, eds., Theories of Urban Politics (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1995). Literature in related ﬁelds, such as urban planning and history, has recently begun to more explicitly recognize the centrality of race. For some of this literature, see Robert A. Catlin, Racial Politics and Urban Planning: Gary, Indiana 1980– 1989 (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1993); June Manning Thomas and Marsha Ritzdorf, eds., Urban Planning and the African American Community in the Shadows (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1997); June Manning Thomas, Redevelopment and Race: Planning a Finer City in Postwar Detroit (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997); John Bauman, Public Housing, Race, and Renewal: Urban Planning in Philadelphia, 1920–1974 (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1987); Thomas J. Sugrue, The Origins of the Urban Crisis: Race and Inequality in Postwar Detroit (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996); Ronald H. Bayor, Race and the Shaping of Twentieth Century Atlanta (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 1996); and Christopher Silver and John V. Moeser, The Separate City: Black Communities in the Urban South, 1940–1968 (Lexington, KY: University Press of Kentucky, 1995). 8. David L. Imbroscio, Reconstructing City Politics: Alternative Economic Development and Urban Regimes (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1997);

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and Mickey Lauria, ed., Reconstructing Urban Regime Theory: Regulating Urban Politics in a Global Economy (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 1997) 9. Dennis R. Judd and Paul P. Kantor, “Introduction,” in Dennis R. Judd and Paul P. Kantor, eds., The Politics of Urban America: A Reader, second edition (Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 1998), 2. 10. Robert W. Bailey, Gay Politics, Urban Politics: Identity and Economics in the Urban Setting (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999); Elaine B. Sharpe, ed., Culture Wars and Local Politics (Lawrence, KS: University Press of Kansas, 1999); and Jose E. Cruz, Identity and Power: Puerto Rican Politics and the Challenge of Ethnicity (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998). 11. Bailey, Gay Politics, 1999, 345. 12. Paul E. Peterson, City Limits (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981), 128. 13. Joe R. Feagin and Hernan Vera, White Racism: The Basics (New York: Routledge, 1995), 9. 14. For an examination of the issue of African American suburbanization, including both the difﬁculties and beneﬁts of achieving racially integrated suburban communities, see W. Dennis Keating, The Suburban Racial Dilemma: Housing and Neighborhoods (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994).

Postscript 1. Bruce Jackson, “Unanswered Questions: Peace Bridge Secrets,” Artvoice 4 November 1999.

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Reports and Other Sources Buffalo City Directory (many years). Buffalo Memorial Center and Urban League. Fifteenth Annual Report. Buffalo: 1942. Buffalo Urban League. Annual Report for 1959. Buffalo: 1959. ———. Sixteenth Annual Report of the Memorial Center and Urban League, Inc. Buffalo: 1943. ———. The Twenty-Seventh Annual Report of the Buffalo Urban League, Inc. Buffalo: 1954. Housing Opportunities Made Equal (HOME). Summary Data: BMHA Tenants 1969–1986. Buffalo: 1986. ———. Testimony Before Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan on the Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority. Buffalo: 28 November 1987. Evans, William L. Race Fear and Housing. Washington: National Urban League, 1946. ———. Report to the Board of Directors, October–November–December 1945. Buffalo: 16 January 1946. ———. The Twenty-Seventh Annual Report of the Buffalo Urban League, Inc. Buffalo: 1954. Madigan-Hyland, Consulting Engineers. Kensington Expressway, Arterial Improvement, Downtown Buffalo to Airport. Buffalo: 1953.

Index

African Americans: and economy of Buffalo and western New York, 38–41; discrimination against in the ﬁeld of construction, 40, 137; divisions within, 89, 97, 116; interests of, 48, 62, 82, 116, 176, 176–77; living on Buffalo’s east side, 24–25, 44– 45, 62, 73, 82, 129, 176, 198, 202; migration to suburbs, 202, 223; ownership of business, 142; representation of 48–49 Albany (NY), 60 Alinsky, Saul, 120 Allen, James, 158 American Apartheid, 4 American Civil Liberties Union, 77 Angola (NY), 39 Anti-Blockbusting Ordinance, 103– 04, 117 Atlanta, 8–9, 14, 60, 66 Attendance rates, 202 Arthur, George K., 49, 188–190 Arthur v. Nyquist: 150–62, 164– 65, 170, 210; implementation of, 164–65, 171–73, 187–88, 205

Bachrach, Peter, 8, 127 Bailey, Robert, 219 Baltimore, 8 Baratz, Morton S., 8, 217 Best Street, 146

Bethlehem Steel, 36, 39–40, 72, 207, 226 Better Business Bureau, 103 Biline Construction Company, 139 Biracial coalitions, 218–19 Blizzard of 1977, 165, 226 Blizzard of 1985, 189 Blockbusting, 102–104 Boston, 17–18, 60–61, 66, 79, 172– 73 Broadway (Buffalo), 124, 141 Broadway Auditorium, 74 Broadway/Fillmore neighborhood, 30 Brown v. Board of Education, 83, 147, 150 Browning, Rufus P., 18 Buffalo: as a case study, 23–26; deindustrialization of, 23–24, 29, 35–38; downtown, 29; ethnic/ racial neighborhood patterns, 24, 31; map of neighborhoods, 31; mayors, 48–49; population trends, 24, 27, 29, 66, 114, 175– 76, 202, 215, 226; poverty, 24, 32–33, 144, 202; residential segregation of, 1, 10; structure of government, 48 Buffalo Area Metropolitan Ministries (BAMM), 174 Buffalo Bills, 41, 145 Buffalo Board of Community Relations, 76–78

287

288

Index

Buffalo Board of Education, 55, 146, 151, 158–59 Buffalo Board of Realtors, 103 Buffalo Board of Redevelopment, 56, 91–92, 103, 111 Buffalo Chamber of Commerce, 94, 113, 128, 189–90 Buffalo Committee on Discrimination in Employment, 77 Buffalo Common Council: 72–73, 88, 111, 151, 159, 183–84, 198– 99, 200, 205, 210; map of districts (1950), 52; map of districts (1997), 51; representation on, 50, 146; system of weighted voting, 143 Buffalo Corporation Counsel, 159 Buffalo Criterion, 58–59, 89, 97 Buffalo Housing Court, 93 Buffalo Human Relations Commission, 117 Buffalo Interdepartmental Committee on Housing, 93 Buffalo Model Cities Agency, 126, 131 Buffalo Municipal Housing Authority (BMHA): 53, 68–69, 75, 87–88, 98, 178, 180, 205; conversion of Dante Place, 105– 11; ﬁrst statement of policy, 81, 104; hiring practices, 194; management practices, 181–87; representation on board, 54, 108, 146; segregating developments, 70, 74, 79–82, 104–05, 144–45, 160, 181–82, 187, 192– 97, 213 Buffalo News (Buffalo Evening News), 59, 107, 138, 174, 179, 186, 198 Buffalo Planning Commission, 88 Buffalo Redevelopment Committee 88 Buffalo Sabres, 41 Buffalo Urban League, 69, 76–78, 81, 91, 93, 95, 97, 113, 144

Buffalo Urban Renewal Agency, 117 Buffalo Urban Renewal Board, 57 Build Unity, Independence, Liberty, and Dignity (BUILD), 120, 122, 131 Burnet Construction Company, 138–40 Burrell, Robert, 74 Business First, 186 Busing, 160, 162, 171–72 Business community, 189 Butler, John, 71

California, 192 Canada, 123 Canisius College, 126 Carmody, John, 73 Carson, Johnny, 226 Catalano, Michael, 109 Cheektowaga, 1, 71, 81 Chicago, 12, 60, 66, 79, 192 Cincinnati, 126 Cities Without Suburbs, 216 Citizens Council on Human Relations (CCHR), 120, 131, 150 Civil Rights Act of 1866, 132 Civil Rights Act of 1964, 195 Civil Rights Act of 1968, 132–33 Civil rights movement, 6 Civil rights organizations, 119–20 Cleveland, 60, 66, 105, 134 Coattails, 191 Cochran, Johnnie, Jr., 225 Code enforcement, 97 Cold Springs, 176 Comer v. Kemp, 195–97, 205–06, 210 Commercial vacancy rates, 141 Committee for an Urban Campus (CURB), 122 Commodore Perry Apartments/ Extension, 180, 181, 210 Community development, 215 Community Development Block Grant (CDBG), 179

Index Community power, 5, 15; 8–15, 25–26, 216–22 Concentrated urban poverty: 2–8, 222; effects of 2–4, 20–21, 221; explanations of, 4–8; study of in relation to community power, 8–13, 25–26 Conservative party, 49, 166, 189, 209 Council of Social Agencies, 77 Courier Express, 59 Crime, 32, 95, 115, 169, 176–77, 184, 191, 204, 214–15, 222 Culture of poverty, 21, 95 Cuomo, Mario, 185, 188, 199–200 Curtin, John, 150, 157, 160, 171– 72, 205 Dahl, Robert, 8, 14, 217 Daley, Richard J., 12 Dante Place, 102, 105–111, 114 Dante Tenants Defense League, 109 Darden, Joe, 197 Deindustrialization: as explanation for ghetto formation, 6–7, 221; of Buffalo and western New York, 23–24 Delaware district, 167, 189, 200 Delaware Park, 123 Delavan Avenue, 144 Democratic party, 48–50, 111, 188–89, 201, 209 Denton, Nancy A., 4, 5, 8 Detroit, 60, 66, 79, 126 Displacement, 98–100 Douglass Towers: 222; living conditions, 180–82, 184–87, 192; segregation of, 145, 181–82, 187; vacancy rates, 145, 180, 184–85 Dropout rates, 163, 201 Drugs, 184 Eagle Street/Fillmore Avenue, 75 East High School, 151–153 East side, 24, 82, 176–77, 141–45, 222

289

Economic determinism, 220 Economic isolation, 21, 25, 192 Education, 11 Elite theory, 217–18 Ellicott Community Redevelopment Foundation (ECRF), 137–39 Ellicott district: 45, 50, 53, 82, 88–89, 97, 106, 110, 142, 167, 189, 200, 209, 226; crime, 95, 115, 143; health problems, 95; master plan, 91; housing and living conditions, 83, 92–95, 153; population loss, 99–100, 143; racial/ethnic composition, 30, 45, 73–74, 82, 99, 143 Ellicott District Property Owners Association, 89–90, 97 Ellicott District Redevelopment Project: 51, 58, 83, 91; delays in, 111–14, 116, 119, 127, 136– 40, 218; demolition and relocation, 98–100, 115, 160; labor used for, 136–40; phase I, 114; phase II, 136, 139; size and scope, 96–98 Ellicott Mall: debate over demolition, 183–84, 186–87, 206; living conditions at, 180–82, 186–87; location and construction of, 90, 96–98, 102, 104, 106, 110, 114, 192; segregation of, 105, 114, 144–45, 181–82, 187; redevelopment of, 206, 222; vacancy rates, 145, 180 Ellicott Neighborhood Advisory Council, 140 Ellicott Town Homes, 140 Emslie Gardens, 140 Erie Canal, 27, 35 Erie County, 115, 143, 175 Erie County Board of Supervisors, 45 Erie County Committee of the Communist Party, 75 Erie County Democratic Party, 101, 188

290

Index

Erie County Department of Health, 93 Evans, William L., 69, 77–78 Eve, Arthur O., 49, 165–67, 169 Expressway construction, 122–125

Fair housing: debate about ordinance in Buffalo, 130–33, 173–76, 178, 197–99; New York State law, 129–33 Feagin, Joe R., 221 Federal Housing Administration (FHA), 66, 71, 96, 112, 140, 160 Federal Public Housing Authority, 75–76 Federal Works Administration, 72–74 Federated Negro Societies of Buffalo and Western New York, 75 Ferraro, Geraldine, 188 Ferry Grider Homes, 181, 185 Fillmore Avenue, 88 Fillmore district, 135, 167, 173, 189, 200, 207, 209, 225 First Hartford Realty, 112 Ford Motor Corporation, 36 Foschio, Leslie, 165 Fosdick Masten High School, 156

Galster, George, 163 Garbage user fee, 207–08 Gary (Indiana), 60, 134 Gautreaux case, 196 Gehl, Scott, 193 General Motors Corporation, 36 Genesee Street, 124 German Americans, 30 Ghetto formation: causes of, 20, 21; model incorporating local politics, 22; synthesis of existing models, 6 Ghetto neighborhoods, 32, 125, 141 Gold Dome Bank, 189–90

Goldman, Mark, 124 Gorski, Dennis, 203 Great Depression, 66 Great Lakes, 35 Great Migration, 6, 7, 22 Greater Buffalo Development Foundation, 112 Greater Upstate Law Project, 195 Grifﬁn, James D: 12, 49, 101–02, 112–13, 136, 145, 173–76, 179– 80, 183–85, 187, 192, 202, 204, 206–07; 214; 1991 county executive race, 203; 1977 election, 147, 165–70; 1981 election, 177–78; 1985 election, 187–91; 1989 election, 199–203; issue positions, 190–91, 198; leadership style, 168–69, 188– 89, 191, 199; partisan afﬁliations, 49, 189 Grisanti, Lawrence, 185 Gross, Mason, 122

Hamilton Company, 111–12 Hamlin Park, 176 Heck Report, 160 Holling, Thomas, 72 Homosexuality, 191 Housing Division of Catholic Charities, 174 Housing Opportunities Made Equal (HOME), 193, 197 Hoyt, William, 199–200 Humboldt Parkway, 123 Humphrey, Hubert, 134 Hunter, Floyd, 8

Ickes, Harold, 79 Indianapolis, 60 Industrial Areas Foundation (IAF), 120 Inﬂuenza, 95 Irish Americans, 24, 30, 71, 209

Index Jewish Americans, 30, 45, 69, 73, 82, 99 Jefferson Avenue, 140 Johnson, Horace, 131–32 Johnson, Lyndon B., 126 Jones, Leeland N., 50, 82, 90 Jones v. Mayor, 132 Judd, Dennis, 219 Kantor, Paul, 219 Keiser, Richard A., 9 Kemp, Jack, 194–95 Kenﬁeld Apartments, 66, 68–69, 181 Kensington Avenue, 88 Kensington Expressway (33), 123–25 Kensington Heights, 90, 180–81 Kensington High School, 152 Kerner Commission, 126, 128 Killen, Sean P., 163 Kowal, Chester, 101, 111–12, 134 Labor unions, 38–40 Lackawanna Steel, 35–36 Lake Erie, 23, 105, 123 Lakeview Apartments, 144–45 Lane, Ambrose, 49, 134 Lang Field Apartments, 181 LaSalle Courts, 71 Lasswell, Harold, 13–15 Latinos (Hispanics), 30, 202, 223 League of Women Voters, 131 Liberal party, 49, 177, 200, 209 Light rail line, 210, 226, 227 Lockwood, Bonnie, 210 Los Angeles, 60 Lovejoy district, 30, 71, 73–75, 135, 167, 189, 200, 203 Lower east side: 45–46; map of, 47 Main Street, 116, 123, 144, 154, 173, 210 Majestic Pools, 225 Makowski, Stanley, 146, 151, 159, 165–66, 170

291

Maloney, Cora, 100, 154 Manch, Joseph, 151 Manguso, Anthony, 132 Manz, Victor, 101 Marine Drive Apartments, 105–06, 110 Markel, Samuel C., 59 Marshall, Dale R., 18 Masiello, Anthony, 174, 203–05; 207–11, 215 Massachusetts, 83 Massey, Douglas, 4–5, 8 Masten district, 30, 53, 97–98, 102, 116, 142, 153–54, 167, 189, 200, 209 Masten District Community Relations Council, 103, 226 Mayoral leadership, 9, 204–05 Mead, James, 71 Metcalf/Baker law, 129–33 Michigan Avenue YMCA, 127 Milwaukee, 126 Minneapolis, 126 Mitchell, Delmar, 102–03, 132 Mollenkopf, John H., 214 Mondale, Walter, 188 Mortgage discrimination, 191 Moynihan, Daniel Patrick, 188, 193–94 Mruk, Joseph, 88, 91 Multiracial coalitions, 227 Munch, John P., 225 Murray, Charles, 4

National Association Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 74, 76, 150, 195 Nash, Jesse, 126 National Housing Act of 1949, 86 National Housing Act of 1966, 139 Neighborhood change, 19–20 Neighborhood composition, 43 Neighborhood composition rule, 79–80 Neighborhood Legal Services of Buffalo, 195

292

Index

New Deal, 66 New Deal Coalition, 101 New Hampshire, 206–07 New Haven, 8, 14 New Jersey, 83 New York City, 66 New York Committee Against Discrimination, 130 New York Public Housing Law, 109 New York State, 192 New York State Board of Regents, 150–151, 158 New York State Commission Against Discrimination, 103 New York State Commissioner of Education, 151, 158 New York State Constitution, 109 New York State Division of Housing and Community Renewal, 195 New York State Housing Commission, 87–88, 185 New York State housing study, 93–94 New York State Thruway, 110, 122 New York State Urban Development Corporation, 140 Newark (NJ), 126 Niagara district, 167, 189, 200, 203 Niagara Frontier Housing and Development Corporation, 140 Niagara Frontier Regional Planning Board, 210 Niagara Frontier Transportation Authority (NFTA), 225 Niagara River, 23, 123 Nixon, Richard, 146 Nondecisionmaking, 8 North Buffalo, 30, 70–71, 81, 87, 90, 197 North district, 167, 189, 200, 203 Nyquist, Ewald, 150, 159

Occupancy tax, 165 Old ﬁrst ward, 82, 101 Ontario, 123 Optional attendance zones, 155– 56 Opportunity structure, 21, 81, 214 Orchard Park, 145 O’ Regan, Katherine M., 20 Oregon, 83 Orﬁeld, Gary, 145 Orﬁeld, Myron, 3

Peace Bridge, 226, 227 Pennsylvania, 83 Peterson, Paul, 5, 9, 220 Phelan, John J., 166–67 Philadelphia, 66, 79, 169 Pilot Field, 199–200, 202 Pitts, James, 49, 183–84, 198, 208–09 Pittsburgh, 37, 60, 138 Plainﬁeld (NJ), 126 Pluralist theory, 10–11, 14, 25, 217 Pneumonia, 95 Polish Americans, 24, 73, 75, 82, 135, 152 Political isolation, 21, 25, 43 Portable classrooms, 158–59 Poverty: among African Americans in Buffalo, 32; in Buffalo and western New York, 32–33, 144, 202, 204, 214, 226; map of in Buffalo, 34; on Buffalo’s east side, 32–34, 144, 202 Price, Alfred D., Courts/Extension, 181 Providence (RI), 60 Public housing: 11, 25, 125, 186; map of in Buffalo (1953), 67; segregation of in Buffalo, 70, 74, 79–82, 104–05, 144–45, 160, 181–82, 187, 192–97, 213, 218;

Index role of federal government in creating, 66; vacancy rates in Buffalo, 180–81, 194 Public Works Administration (PWA), 66 Pyramid Companies, 1, 225

Quadagno, Jill, 133 Quality Integrated Education (QIE) program, 158–60, 171

Race Fear and Housing, 78–79 Race relations, 81, 162 Racism, 218, 221 Reagan, Ronald, 188 Reapportionment, 18 Regime theory, 11–13, 217–19 Regionalization, 216 Representation: and policy making, 16–17; descriptive, 15–19, 43, 60–62; in Buffalo city government, 48–59; relationship with residential segregation, 16–17 Republic Steel, 72 Republican party, 49–50, 189, 201, 209 Residential segregation: 213, 217; advantages of, 214; as a cause of ghetto formation, 8, 23; causes of, 80, 102; effects of, 144, 214; of Buffalo, 1, 32, 43– 44, 77, 91, 114, 144, 160, 202, 214; relationship with descriptive representation, 16–17; role of federal government in shaping, 80; role of private real estate industry in shaping, 80, 102–104, 160 Residential vacancy rates, 94, 204 Restrictive covenants, 82 Reville, Eugene, 151 Rich Stadium, 145

293

Right to Life party, 49, 189, 201, 209 Rizzo, Frank, 169 Rochester (NY), 120 Rockefeller, Nelson, 121–22, 129, 134 Role models, 181 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 75 Rusk, David, 216

Saint Lawrence Seaway, 36, 226 San Diego, 192 Scajaquada Expressway (198), 123–24 Section Eight, 195 Sedita, Frank, 59, 96, 100, 126– 27, 131–33, 135–36, 146, 159, 170 Segregation of Buffalo Public School System: 17, 218; effects of, 162–64; methods of, 151–62; role of state ofﬁcials, 157–60 Segregation of schools, 17, 150 Segregation of staff, 156–57 Service delivery, 191, 208 Service sector employment, 36–37 Shelley v. Kramer, 82 Slominski, Alfreda, 134–135 Snow removal, 189 Social isolation, 20–21, 176, 210, 213–14 Social networks, 21 Social welfare policy, 4, 222 South Buffalo, 71, 81, 87, 90, 173, 197, 210 South district, 167, 289, 203 South Park High School, 152 Southern African Americans, 4, 70 Spatial isolation, 21, 25, 43, 62, 80, 125, 192 Standardized test scores, 201 State University of New York (SUNY), 41

294

Index

State University of New York at Buffalo (UB), 121–22, 127, 197, 210, 226 Steel, 35, 221 Steinberg, Stephen, 128 Stone, Clarence, 9, 14 Street maintenance, 189 Suburbanization, 7 Sycamore Street, 1, 141 Syracuse, 60

Tabb, David H., 18 Talbert Mall: location and construction, 90, 96–98, 101, 104, 106, 110, 114; segregation of, 105, 114, 144–45; vacancy rates, 145 Tampa, 126 Teaford, Jon, 135 Temporary redevelopment committee, 91 Trammell, Wilbur, 101, 112, 199– 200 Transfers, 152 Tuberculosis, 95 Two-family homes, 130

Unemployment, 20–21 United Independence party, 134 United States Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), 182–83, 192, 194, 205 United States Housing and Home Finance Agency, 96 United States Senate Banking Committee, 191 United States Urban Renewal Administration, 113 United States v. Bethlehem Steel, 39–40 University district, 53, 167, 173, 189, 200, 209, 226

University heights, 30, 223 Urban Land Institute, 32 Urban Properties, 112–13, 136–38, 140 Urban renewal (Urban redevelopment), 11, 13, 25, 85–86 Urban riots: 5; in Buffalo (1967), 126–29 Urban underclass, 2, 3, 216

Vera, Hernan, 221 Victor, Arthur, 88 Vietnam War, 36

Walden Avenue, 1 Walden Galleria, 1, 225 Wall Street Journal, 94 War Memorial Stadium, 146 Washington, 83 Washington, D.C., 66 West side, 99, 197, 223 Western New York, map of, 28 Wiggins, Cynthia, 1, 225 Willert Park Courts/Extension: construction of, 69–70; conﬂict over extension, 70–76, 80, 82, 162, 213; segregation of 105 William Street, 124, 140–41 William Street Merchants Association, 97 Wilson, William Julius, 2–3, 34 Woodlawn Avenue, 154 Woodlawn Junior High, 153–55, 162 Worcester (MA), 60 World War I, 36 World War II, 36, 81–82 Wright, Lydia, 154–55

Yinger, John, 193