[Congressional Record Volume 141, Number 170 (Tuesday, October 31, 1995)]
[Senate]
[Pages S16378-S16379]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]




             CHARLAYNE HUNTER-GAULT AND A SENSE OF HISTORY

  Mr. HOLLINGS. Mr. President, I would like to draw my colleagues' 
attention to a column in today's Washington Post that is a good 
remembrance of the early 1960's when black students integrated Southern 
colleges. In touching remarks, South Carolina native Charlayne Hunter-
Gault, public television's national news correspondent, weaves an 
excellent reflection of the history of the times as she remembers the 
life of Hamilton Earl Holmes. Together in 1961, Ms. Hunter-Gault and 
Mr. Holmes became the first two African-American students to attend the 
University of Georgia.
  Back in the early 1960's as the University of Georgia integrated, the 
State of South Carolina was employing every means to keep Clemson 
University segregated. We ran out of courts.
  But fortunately, we had people like Mr. Holmes and Ms. Hunter-Gault 
who were willing to show us the way in South Carolina. Their courage 
and ability to stand up led to Clemson's peaceful admission of Harvey 
Gantt, the former mayor of Charlotte and a former candidate for U.S. 
Senate.
  With the death of Hamilton Earl Holmes, it is important for us to 
remember the struggles of the past and to find the courage to move 
forward--and not fall further into the bitterness of racism and make 
mistakes of the past.
  Mr. President, I ask unanimous consent that the text of Ms. Hunter-
Gault's column to be printed in the Record.
  There being no objection, the article was ordered to be printed in 
the Record, as follows:

               [From the Washington Post, Oct. 31, 1995]

                            One in a Million

                      (By Charlayne Hunter-Gault)

       One of the black men who was not ``one in a million'' at 
     the Million Man March was Hamilton Earl Holmes. But in a real 
     sense, if the purpose was to have black men ``stand up''--and 
     surely no one could have thought that this was the first time 
     that has happened--Hamilton had long since pioneered in 
     standing up. And while there might have been millions 
     cheering him on, for the most part he stood up alone.
       It was in the early winter of 1961, when Hamilton Holmes, 
     armed with a court order, walked onto the campus of the 
     University of Georgia and into history as the first black man 
     ever to be admitted and attend classes there in its 170-year 
     history. If he never did anything else in his life, that 
     single act of manly courage in the face of jeers, spitting 
     and rioting would have been enough to qualify him as a 
     ``standup guy.'' but Hamp did that and a lot more. For a 
     major part of his purpose in life was to demonstrate to the 
     world that black men were as good as any men. Not better, but 
     as good as, although there were times in his classes in 
     biology and physics and calculus and all the other courses 
     that an aspiring doctor has to take that he earned a second 
     layer of enmity from his classmates by consistently pushing 
     the curve up to 98 or 99 and often a hundred, leaving the 
     next best grade some 10 points behind.
       It was such a performance that led him to be elected to Phi 
     Beta Kappa, a notation that appeared beside his name when he 
     graduated in 1963 as one of two black students in a class of 
     2,000. Had he not been recovering from surgery on a heart 
     that was as big as the world, but in the end was vulnerable 
     to its pressures, he might have been at the Million Man March 
     with his son, Hamilton Jr. (Chip), at his side. And while his 
     was never the gift of oratory, he could have offered his own 
     quiet but soul-elevating testimony to the strength of black 
     men and to black families. He could surely have given the 
     lie, as he always had, to notions of inferiority and rampant 
     irresponsibility. He could have also provided as well a 
     window into a world that existed not so long ago, one that 
     raised obstacles and inflicted pain on black men that only 
     the most ignorant or callous among us would forget.
       Hamp had come from a distinguished black family of doctors 
     and educators and activists who challenged the laws that kept 
     blacks ``in their place,'' starting when Hamp was still in 
     junior high school with the all-white Atlanta golf course. 
     His grandfather, a doctor who lived to be 82, once explained 
     the family philosophy to the writer Calvin Trillin: ``I 
     trained my children from infancy to fear nothing, and I told 
     my grandson the same thing. I told him to be meek. Be meek, 
     but don't look too humble. Because if you look too humble 
     they might think you're afraid, and there's nothing to be 
     afraid about, because the Lord will send his angel to watch 
     over you and you have nothing to fear.''
       And Hamp produced a distinguished family. During his 30-
     year marriage to Marilyn, he had a son who followed in his 
     footsteps, albeit less ceremoniously, to the University of 
     Georgia, graduated and now works in communications, and a 
     daughter. Allison, also a college graduate, who is in 
     banking. Also during those 30 years, he overcame whatever 
     bitterness he had toward the university and became one of its 
     biggest boosters and supporters. This was fairly amazing to 
     me, especially since the two things Hamp wanted most in 
     college were good labs (he had always said he could get the 
     education he needed at Morehouse, the all-black men's college 
     where he had a four-year, all-expenses-paid scholarship, but 
     the university had better facilities) and the opportunity to 
     play football for the Georgia Bulldogs. The officials at 
     Georgia refused to let him play ``for his own safety.'' But 
     when I returned on a visit to Atlanta in the early '80s, one 
     of the biggest ``dawgs'' around was Hamp, who by then had 
     accepted an appointment as a trustee to the Georgia 
     Foundation, the body that oversees university funding. The 
     other day, Charles Knapp, the current president of the 
     university, called Hamilton ``one of our most distinguished 
     graduates.''
       In the years since Hamp and I were joined at the hip of 
     history, I have often had occasion to think back to the time 
     when we were fighting in federal court to win the right to 
     attend the university. President Knapp's words sent me back 
     to those days, when the top officials of the university tried 
     to keep Hamp out by testifying in court that he was 
     unqualified, not because he was black. The latter would have 
     been illegal under the 1954 Brown decision, and officials of 
     the state had sworn to resist integration, but only ``by all 
     legal means.'' Hamp might have been able to overlook being 
     called ``nigger,'' but ``unqualified''? The valedictorian of 
     our Turner High School class of 1956? The smartest student in 
     all Atlanta, according to his proud father, Tup. If there was 
     a fighting word to Hamp, it was that ``unqualified.''
       And while he was slow to anger and preferred classroom 
     combat to the real thing, he was capable of standing up that 
     way too. Once, when had parked in front of the house of one 
     of the most racist fraternities on campus, and the fraternity 
     guys saw whose car it was, they began to taunt him and make 
     moves that suggested they were prepared to go further. 
     Knowing he had only himself to rely on and understanding the 
     white southern mentality perhaps better than they themselves, 
     Hamp made a quick but deliberate move to open the car door, 
     reached across to the glove compartment and took out 
     something that he immediately placed in his pocket. It was a 
     flashlight, but who knew? Hamp was relying on the prevailing 
     predisposition to embrace every known stereotype of black 
     men, and his instinct proved correct. They backed off in a 
     heartbeat. The irony of the encounter was that the next day, 
     Hamp was summoned to the dean's office and admonished for 
     carrying a gun. The rest of the time, the frat brothers did 
     their dirty deeds in stealth. Like letting the air out of 
     Hamp's tires while he was in class. Early and often.
       But Hamp persevered, often finding release in a game of 
     pickup basketball with the brothers from town, who at that 
     point could come to football games but still had to sit in 
     the section reserved for blacks, called the ``crow's nest.'' 
     They were proud of Hamp; and who knows how many of them he 
     inspired--if not to apply to the university then to be all 
     they could be.
       If he had been well enough and so inclined, that might have 
     been his message at the Million Man March. He might have 
     dusted off an old speech he made in our senior year, just 
     before he graduated, went on to become the first black 
     student at Emory Medical School and then to a distinguished 
     career as an orthopedic surgeon and teacher.
       Back then, in the spring of 1963, he liked to talk about 
     ``The New Negro.'' ``Ours is a competitive society,'' he'd 
     say. ``This is true even more so for the Negro. He must 
     compete not only with other Negroes, but with the white man. 
     In most instances, in competition for jobs and status with 
     whites, the Negro must have more training and be more 
     qualified than his white counterpart if he is to beat him out 
     of a job. If the training and qualifications are equal, nine 
     out of 10 times the job will go to the white man. This is a 
     challenge to us as a race. We must not be content to be 
     equal, education- and training-wise, but we must strive to be 
     superior in order to be given an equal chance. This is 
     something that I have experienced in my short tenure at the 
     University of Georgia. I cannot feel satisfied with just 
     equaling the average grades there. I am striving to be 
     superior in order to be accepted as an equal. If the average 
     is B, then I want an A. The importance of superior training 
     cannot be overemphasized. This is a peculiar situation, I 
     know, but it is reality, and reality is something that we 
     Negroes must learn to live with.''
       How much would he have edited that speech for the march? 
     Hamilton Earl Holmes was not there that day to be one in a 
     million, and today we will bury him, one in a million, to be 
     sure, but also one of many millions of black men who have 
     given more than should 

[[Page S16379]]

     have been required of any human beings, and whose death at 54 
     should give us pause to contemplate the meaning of his life, 
     of theirs and of the millions of black men who live on.

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