Black History Month: Black Catholics in America

I have obliquely alluded, in this space, to the fact that I am of the Roman Catholic faith. This may come as a surprise to a lot of folks, some of whom believe a black Catholic is rarer than a campfire at the North Pole. Frequently, when people learn that I'm a Catholic, they say, "When did you convert?" Well, in my case, I didn't convert--I'm a so-called "cradle Catholic." But I will admit that I'm just a second generation Catholic.

I come from a maternal line that has a lot of Baptist preachers. Most prominent of these would be my great-grandfather, James William Long (1866-1945). He was a deacon at Kansas City's renowned Paseo Baptist Church before becoming pastor of Sunrise Baptist Church. My mother's uncle, Henry Willie Gines (1903-1980) was a Baptist preacher as was his son, Frank William Gines (1935-1999). My aunt, Delorise Gines, has a ministry that grew out of her participation at Paseo.

So how did I end up Catholic? Well, the earthly answer goes like this: my grandmother, Annie Florida Corrine Long, had a stormy relationship with her father, the aforementioned Rev. James William Long. I don't know all the details, but I'm sure it was not helped by her desire to be a dancer in Kansas City's vaudeville revues. When she left her parents' house in the 1920's, she became a dancer and never opened a Bible nor set foot in a church (except for weddings and funerals) ever again. Her children, including my mother, grew up "unchurched," for the most part.

But, as a teenager, my mother had three close friends, who, in today's vernacular, "hung out" together. They took turns going to each other's churches. One girl was Baptist, one Methodist, and one Catholic. As a result of these friendships, my mother eventually became very active in the Methodist church. She was a leader in a statewide Methodist teen group. Even while she did this, my mother continued to attend her other friends' churches and continued to study religion on her own. Ultimately, for reasons personal to her, my mother at age 16 became a Catholic.

Meanwhile, in Texas, my father was having religious experiences of his own. I don't know of any clergy on my father's side and I don't really know of any specific religious preferences in his family (with one exception). But because the Depression-era schools in Aransas County, Texas, refused to educate black children, the first school my father attended was a Catholic grade school. This evidently made an impression on him and he, too, became a Catholic as a teenager.

When my parents met in college, their Catholicism was something they had in common.

As I grew up, the only other black Catholic family I knew of was that of my paternal great-uncle, Herman Walker (1906-2002). And I don't think he was born a Catholic; rather I think he converted when he met and married his wife Ida, a French Creole Catholic from Louisiana. But he was a devout Catholic. His funeral program noted that he had attended St. Nicholas Catholic Church in Houston for sixty-six years and that he was a member of The Knights of Columbus and the Holy Name Society.

Despite their apparent invisibility, black Catholics have played important roles in the Church in America due originally and derivatively to the nation's French and Spanish heritages. In fact, the first blacks in America were Catholics. They helped settle America's oldest European-established city, St Augustine, Florida, in 1565.

Over the next few posts, we'll tell the stories of significant African-American Catholics.

Carnival: The First Black NASCAR Driver

I was thinking of sitting out this Carnival because I couldn't come up with anything appropriately funny or foolish about my family. That's not say there isn't any funny or foolish about my family . . . just nothing I thought would be interesting or publishable. But Jasia's story about her mother learning to drive reminded me of a couple of driving stories.

My great-uncle Herman Walker was born in 1906 in Taft, San Patricio County, Texas. His parents were Hattie Bryant and Toby Walker. He graduated from high school in Rockport, Texas and then attended Paul Quinn College, which was then located in Waco, Texas. He later moved to Houston where he was the chef at the renowned Ye Olde College Inn during its heyday. Uncle Herman was a member of St Nicholas Catholic Church for sixty-six years. He was a proud and independent man who lived to be ninety-six years old.

For sometime after Uncle Herman turned eighty, various relatives began to suggest that it was time for him to give up driving. It was apparent that his eyesight was not good, and it was difficult to understand how he navigated intersections in particular. On a visit to see Uncle Herman, my father learned Uncle Herman's strategy for dealing with intersections. Upon seeing what he thought might be a stop sign 0r traffic light, he would slow down, and blow his horn loudly. If nobody else blew their horn, Herman would keep on going!

The other story has appeared earlier in this space, but it's perfect for replay for the Carnival.

It's said by historians that Wendell Scott was the first NASCAR driver in 1961. But I have evidence to the contrary. A news story from the San Mateo, Calif., Times, dated August 1, 1955, tells the tale of the true first black NASCAR driver. The story recounts a NASCAR race at Bay Meadows in Northern California. The winner of the race was Tim Flock of Atlanta, then the nation's leading stock car driver. But then the last paragraph of the story says:

Unintentional comedy relief during the grim racing was provided by Elias Bowie of Oakland driving a 1955 Cadillac in his first stock car race. Bowie toured the course as a Sunday driver checking the scenery. He had the largest pit crew, topped by a lanky double-jointed chap in green fatigue uniform. He also had provided a full tank car of Mobiloil gas. In spite of (or because of) these precautions, Bowie completed the race.

[San Mateo Times, Monday, August 1, 1955, p.10].

Elias Bowie was my grandmother's brother. He ran several transportation companies (jitney buses, taxi cabs) in Oakland, San Francisco, and San Jose. He loved Cadillacs. He always wore a fedora when he drove. I can just see him tooling around the track with his hat on and one arm hanging out the window!