Common Ground by J. Anthony Lukas Page A

reflected the stance of the Black United Front, a new umbrella organization embracingnearly all of Boston’s major black groups—from the Urban League to the Black Panthers—formed that January following a visit by Stokely Carmichael. After King’s assassination, the Front demanded a large dose of self-determination—or, in the lingo of the times, “community control”—for Boston’s black neighborhoods. On April 8, five thousand blacks gathered in a Roxbury sports stadium. With whites excluded, they approved twenty-one demands, among them:
    “As of Monday, April 8, all white-owned and white-controlled businesses will be closed until further notice, while the transfer of the ownership of these businesses to the black community is being negotiated through the United Front.
    “Every school in the black community shall have all-black staff, principals, teachers, and custodians.
    “All schools within the black community are to be renamed after black heroes. Names will be selected through the United Front.
    “The black community must have control of all public, private, and municipal agencies that affect the lives of the people in this community.
    “The Mayor’s office is to mobilize the Urban Coalition, the National Business Alliance, and the white community at large to immediately make $100,000,000 available to the black community.”
    The United Front’s demands drew an angry response from Kevin White, who could hardly be expected to welcome steps which would weaken his political control over the city. “I understand and feel the anguish which spawned it,” he said. “I will not by one word or one act add to the delusion that it is rational, workable, or dignified either for black or white. Racism is obscene by whomever proposed, black or white, and social reform rarely benefits from expropriation.” The Mayor coupled his flat rejection of the Front’s demands with praise for simultaneous proposals by the Boston branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, which had broken with the Front. White called the NAACP’s proposals—which included stricter housing code enforcement and the hiring of more black policemen—“a worthy basis for serious implementation.”
    Ralph Hoagland did not share the Mayor’s reservations. Indeed, he was excited by the boldness of the United Front’s vision (ultimately, the Front saw the black community separating politically from Boston and forming a new city). When he, Appel, and half a dozen others met on April 22, Hoagland persuaded the group to accept an extraordinary proposition: that they set out to raise the $100 million included in the demands and give it to the Front “no strings attached.” To screen out those not truly dedicated, they would ask for a minimum of $1,000 per person and one day a week to be devoted to a “skills bank” which would help blacks develop expertise in business and finance. Moreover, they agreed that the real problem was not in Roxbury but in Newton and other suburbs like it where “white racism” prevailed. While striving to help the black community, they must also educate the white community on their “moral responsibility” to erase racial inequality. They resolved to beginwith a series of recruiting breakfasts held in their homes at seven o’clock on weekday mornings. The hour was Appel’s idea. “People are always telling you they’re tied up for lunch or dinner,” he explained. “But nobody can tell you they’re busy at seven a.m. The only reason for refusing a seven a.m. invitation is that they’re too lazy or not committed enough. We don’t want those people anyway.”
    The founding members of what came to be known as FUND—Fund for United Negro Development—could scarcely be accused of either laziness or lack of commitment. Ralph Hoagland, in particular, largely abandoned his drugstore chain for months on end as he worked sixteen hours a day raising money for FUND and serving as the