Soul City

by Thomas Healy

  McKissick was elated. Although Morse was no General Motors, it was a well-regarded firm that was traded on the New York Stock Exchange and written about in the Wall Street Journal. A commitment from a company of its stature, so early in Soul City’s development, would provide instant credibility, and McKissick did not attempt to hide his enthusiasm. “Your decision to choose Soul City as the site for corporate expansion will indeed be momentous,” he responded to Morse. He invited the president to visit Soul City personally and emphasized that, as its first industrial tenant, Morse would have “the opportunity to work closely with us in the design of all aspects of this new town.” He also explained that, as a result of recent developments, he had accelerated his construction timetable. “Within 60 to 90 days we will be in a position to begin installing the required roads and utilities and will simultaneously begin the construction of a number of community facilities,” he assured Morse. “Well prior to the completion of your plant we can guarantee sufficient housing in a wide variety of types and price ranges.”

  * * *

  AS IT TURNED out, that estimate was wildly optimistic. Although HUD had approved the loan guarantee, there were still several conditions Soul City had to satisfy before the deal could be closed, including submission of an industrial marketing plan and the restructuring of its debt to ensure that all creditors were repaid. In addition, some officials in Washington continued to express doubts about the project’s economic viability. One HUD administrator described it as a “poverty case” that was “marginal at best,” an assessment seconded by the Office of Management and Budget. Edward Lamont, the newly appointed director of the New Communities Administration, disputed that characterization, arguing that Soul City was a worthwhile investment that would revive a struggling area. But even he was unwilling to waive the conditions that were holding Soul City up.

  McKissick and his staff did their best to prod HUD along, pointing out that each month’s delay was costing them twenty-five thousand dollars and increasing the government’s financial risk. They also warned that failure to close the deal promptly could jeopardize the commitments they had already secured. “For three years, we have been told that jobs are the key to Soul City,” Carey wrote to Lamont in mid-January. “We now have the promise of 350 jobs from Morse Electro Products and another 100 through our OEO-funded health program and clinic. Having achieved this we may now lose these commitments if we cannot assure Morse and OEO that this project is, in fact, going ahead now.”

  When their pleas to Lamont went unheeded, McKissick decided to go over his head. The problem was, many of his allies in the administration were now gone. Sam Jackson, who some thought might replace Romney as HUD secretary, had been passed over for the job. As a result, he had resigned and was now working at a New York law firm. Bob Brown had also departed, telling Nixon it was time he returned to High Point to resuscitate his public relations business. Brown had been replaced by Stanley Scott, a former journalist who was supportive of Soul City. But Scott lacked Brown’s authority and knack for getting things done. So McKissick turned instead to Leonard Garment, a former law partner of Nixon who served as special assistant to the president. A Jewish New Yorker who had voted for Kennedy in 1960, Garment was an unlikely adviser to Nixon, whose anti-Semitism was already an open secret. But the two men had struck up a friendship at the firm where Nixon worked prior to the 1968 campaign, and Garment played a key role in his victory, helping to polish the candidate’s rough edges and moderate his reactionary tendencies. Nixon rewarded him with a job in the White House overseeing civil rights and the arts. And though there were more influential advisers in the administration, Garment had carved out a niche as its “resident liberal conscience,” which made him the logical person to petition on Soul City’s behalf.

  McKissick paid his first visit to Garment in early February, explaining his predicament. In addition to the costs of delay and the risk of losing industrial commitments, land prices in Warren County were on the rise. He had purchased several parcels adjacent to the Circle P Ranch, but still owned only 2,200 acres, far short of the 5,000 needed for Soul City. And now that HUD had approved the loan guarantee, property owners were taking advantage of the situation. Farmers who had once been willing to sell for three hundred dollars an acre were suddenly asking two to three times that amount. As one local businessman had explained, landowners intended to “make ’em pay through the nose.”

  Garment was sympathetic, and on February 5, he reached out to newly appointed HUD secretary James Lynn, requesting an update on Soul City. “I would appreciate it if you can confirm for me that the project is moving along,” he wrote. “What are the next steps as you see them, and which are up to us and which to Mr. McKissick?” When Lynn failed to answer, Garment followed up with a more urgent note. “Reluctant as I am to bug my favorite Cabinet Member, I must ask you to get one of your staff to do something about my memorandum of last February 5 about Soul City,” he wrote. “Floyd McKissick maintains he has done everything HUD has asked of him—and now his bankers are beginning to wonder if the government is ever going to deliver on a commitment made to him last June 29. He must be assured of FY 1973 money or a great deal goes down the tube.”

  Lynn finally responded on April 10, explaining that his staff was working with McKissick to satisfy the remaining conditions. But he noted that approval for certain matters had been held up by the Office of Management and Budget, which was reviewing several HUD initiatives. So the next day Garment wrote to Paul O’Neill, associate director at OMB. “How soon will you be able to signal HUD that this project should move?” he asked. “My only interest is to give McKissick a definite answer. It looks up to now as though it has been ‘yes’ all along—but if FY 1973 funds run out because processing time is shrinking, then we have done him a real disservice.”

  In addition to pestering Lynn and O’Neill, Garment drafted a long memo to Melvin Laird, Nixon’s chief domestic policy adviser. Garment conceded that Soul City posed greater risks than an ordinary satellite town that could rely on a nearby city for jobs. But unless the administration forged ahead with the project, how would it ever “find out whether a new town, beginning from scratch in an entirely rural area, can be made to succeed?” He also stressed the political implications of Soul City. McKissick was not only “one of the nation’s best known black leaders” but “a political friend.” “If we now say ‘no’ to McKissick we will stand accused not only of reneging on specific commitments to him, but of reneging on the President’s commitment to the whole minority enterprise concept.” Finally, Garment noted that McKissick had secured support from a wide range of public and private entities. “In my four years here, I have seen few projects in the minority development field which have put together as much as this one has. We should give Soul City the green light and inform the interested agencies that we have done so.”

  Garment’s memo led the White House to reaffirm its commitment to Soul City. But HUD continued to drag its feet, and McKissick’s fears were soon realized. He had stayed in close contact with officials at Morse, assuring them that everything was fine. At the suggestion of Chase Manhattan, he had even retained an outside public relations firm to promote the company’s move. But as the months passed by without any action from HUD, Morse began to get cold feet. And when the company’s board of directors met to formally consider the move, it decided to postpone the expansion until Soul City was closer to reality.

  * * *

  LOSING MORSE WAS a major blow, the kind of setback a fledgling community could ill afford. And McKissick was determined not to let it happen again. If HUD wouldn’t close the deal voluntarily, he would force its hand. The Soul City Foundation had recently received a grant to help finance Soul Tech I, a manufacturing plant designed to attract small businesses willing to locate in Soul City but not in a position to build their own factories. There was no timetable for construction yet; the staff hadn’t even chosen a site for the building. But McKissick needed a dramatic gesture to re
gain momentum. So he decided to use the grant as an excuse for a groundbreaking ceremony. Once shovels were in the earth, he reasoned, HUD would have no choice but to honor its commitment.

  Over the next few months, the staff worked tirelessly on the groundbreaking, sending out invitations, booking music and entertainment, and lining up an impressive cast of speakers. For a while, McKissick held out hope that Nixon would attend. In July, he contacted Garment again, suggesting the president use the groundbreaking to tout his domestic policy achievements. Given Soul City’s proximity to the Virginia border, he pointed out, Nixon could fly down by helicopter and return to Washington within two hours. Garment liked the idea and submitted a proposal to the president’s travel office. “The Project has some risks but a decision has recently been made that the risks are worth taking,” he wrote. “We are long overdue for projects with the President’s participation; this is an excellent time and place and would be a dramatic change of pace.”

  The travel office felt otherwise, and its rationale was worrisome. “Although this project clearly has merit, it does contain considerable risk as referred to by Len [Garment] and there is a chance that because of budgetary problems, federal participation might have to be limited in the future,” the office responded. “To commit the President at this time personally could lock us in on budgetary decisions which might have to be made in the future involving very substantial sums of money.” In other words, although the White House had reaffirmed its support of Soul City, it was still hedging its bets. And if Nixon attended the groundbreaking, it would be that much harder to walk away later. So instead of a visit from the president, McKissick would have to settle for Stanley Scott.

  As the groundbreaking neared, work crews prepared the site, mowing fields, erecting bleachers, and mounting signs on I-85 and Route 1 to mark the exit for Soul City. Jane Groom made her own preparations, pulling out her sewing machine and making herself a dress out of green polyester. Her children were getting too old for homemade clothes, so she took them to the mall in Raleigh and splurged on new outfits—pantsuits for the older girls, pinafore dresses for the younger ones, and a suit for Jim-Jim. Even her husband got in on the action, renting a pink tuxedo jacket and black pants. Then, the day before the groundbreaking, they gathered with the rest of the Soul City residents in an empty field. After a brief prayer, they each placed an object in a time capsule that was buried deep in the red soil. The children picked small toys and trinkets, but Groom chose something more meaningful: a copy of the “Dreams into Reality” poster from the offices of McKissick Enterprises in Harlem.

  The groundbreaking took place on Friday, November 9. It began at nine thirty in the morning with a parade down Opportunity Road, the only paved street on-site. A drill team from North Carolina A&T led the way, marching and twirling their weapons in a blur of blue and gold. Following close behind was a long procession of student bands—from Elizabeth City State University, John Graham High School, Norlina High, and the Central Orphanage in Oxford. They marched to a dusty field, where an audience of nearly a thousand stood before a large platform crowded with dignitaries. There was Stanley Scott from the White House, Congressman Parren Mitchell of Baltimore, the deputy regional administrator of HUD, the general counsel of the Office of Economic Opportunity, and the mayors of Warrenton, Oxford, and Henderson. Sam Jackson and Bob Brown were also there, as were McKissick’s parents. The speeches were triumphant and joyful. Lawrence Toal, a vice president of Chase Manhattan, described the building of Soul City as the work of “black, white, and green,” while Tuskegee mayor Johnny Ford teased McKissick for circumventing the traditional path to municipal power. “If you can’t be a mayor of your own city,” he told the crowd, “be like Floyd McKissick and build you a city.”

  A highway sign on Route 1 points the way to Soul City.

  The high point of the celebration was the keynote address by the state’s new governor, James Holshouser. His predecessor, Bob Scott, had always been ambivalent about Soul City, writing in his diary that it had only a “50 percent chance” of success. Holshouser was different. Just thirty-eight years old, with an earnest face and a boyish haircut, he was the state’s youngest governor since the Civil War. He was also the first Republican elected to the office in the twentieth century. Both distinctions gave him an aura of destiny, and he embraced Soul City with a fervor and idealism few other officials displayed. Arriving at the Circle P Ranch by helicopter, he trekked across the freshly mown fields with an entourage of aides and state troopers, then took the stage to deliver a speech that sounded as though it could have been written by John F. Kennedy.

  “There are those who say there is nothing new under the sun, that there are no new worlds left for man to conquer on this planet,” he began. “They should be here today.” Soul City would be the first fully planned and freestanding new town in the United States, he noted. It would be a landmark in the history of urban planning, a milestone in the nation’s quest for better communities. But Soul City was more than just a real estate development. It was “a tribute to man’s ability to dream new dreams and to put those dreams to work.” Like Columbus, like the Wright Brothers, like the astronauts who had recently landed on the moon, Floyd McKissick possessed a spirit that was rare and invaluable, Holshouser said. “It is a spirit of pioneerism, the same sort of spirit that has inspired man to open up frontiers, to go where man has never gone, to do what man has never done.”

  Of course, anyone could dream, Holshouser conceded. What set McKissick apart was the drive and determination with which he had pursued his dream. So deep was his passion, so complete his commitment, so contagious his enthusiasm that he had made converts of people who had once dismissed Soul City as a lark. Now, remarkably, McKissick had won the support of the federal government, the state of North Carolina, and all the local officials seated on the dais behind him. “Slowly but surely, those who doubted Soul City have become believers.”

  McKissick (right) and Governor Holshouser (center) on their way to the groundbreaking celebration.

  As Holshouser spoke, his words were interrupted by the whistle of a train passing by on the edge of the property. Departing from his prepared remarks, he reflected on the role those trains had played in the demise of Warren County and the role they would soon play in its revival. “Those trains used to carry people from places like Warren County out to other cities where opportunity seemed greater,” he reminded his audience. “Often they found disillusionment and unhappiness. I think Soul City will begin to reverse that trend and that soon trains will be carrying people back to North Carolina.”

  The governor ended with a flourish. “The eyes of this nation are on Soul City today because history is being made here,” he declared. One day in the future, he would return to this site to observe the factories in operation, to see the thousands of people, Black and white, living and working together. In the meantime, “let Soul City serve as a lesson for all of us that man can go as far as his dreams take him, as long as he is willing to work to make those dreams come true.”

  When Holshouser sat down, the choir from Kittrell College stood up. There was only one song that could match the earnestness of the governor’s speech: “The Impossible Dream” from the Broadway musical Man of La Mancha. The singers rendered it passionately, their voices building gradually from the first quiet notes to the stirring crescendo:

  This is my quest, to follow that star

  No matter how hopeless, no matter how far …

  And the party was just beginning. That afternoon, Holshouser entertained three hundred guests at the governor’s mansion in Raleigh, where he once again waxed eloquent on the day’s events. “The groundbreaking for Soul City is probably a once in a lifetime thing for North Carolina,” he told the Black syndicated columnist Billy Rowe. “It represents an idea and a dream that a lot of people have worked hard to make a reality, and it’s obvious that it’s becoming a reality.” From there, the celebration moved to Durham, where three thousand supporters ga
thered at Cameron Indoor Stadium, home of the Duke basketball team, for the second annual Founders’ Day Banquet. After more speeches, toasts, and salutes (Jack Parker, head of the UNC Department of Regional and City Planning, was awarded the Soul City Award “for service beyond the call of duty”), the crowd took to the dance floor as Jerry “Iceman” Butler and his Dynamic Show laid down one soulful hit after another. It wasn’t until two o’clock in the morning that the last guests departed and made the long drive back to Soul City.

  McKissick basked in it all. “On that day, I was happy because my mother and daddy were happy,” he recalled later. “I had no doubt in my mind that what I was doing was correct. I was grateful to the president, I was grateful to the governor and I was grateful to all my friends and supporters who had come to see Soul City get started.”