Did the city avoid civil rights violence?
Nelson Pinder flew into Orlando in 1959, got off the plane and went to buy a cup of coffee. He was refused service.
“That began my introduction,” he said. Mr. Pinder, meet Mr. Crow. That would be Jim Crow. He wasn’t an actual person, of course, but segregation laws under that name ruled the South. Overcoming them often led to violence, which leads to this week’s Ask Orlando question.
“Did Martin Luther King ever come to Orlando, and what was the civil rights situation in Orlando in the 1960s?”
King came to Orlando in 1964. He met with Mayor Bob Carr and gave a speech to about 2,000 people at Tinker Field. For many listeners, it was the first time they’d been allowed in the “Whites Only” grandstand.
It was King’s only visit to Orlando. There were more pressing racial hotspots to tend to, places where protests turned violent and riot gear came out.
That didn’t happen here, though it doesn’t mean Orlando wasn’t a Jim Crow kind of town. Separate but equal was far more the former than the latter.
When Pinder’s wife was pregnant, he told her they needed to go to Jacksonville or Miami for the delivery. Black patients at Orange Memorial Hospital were often treated in the basement among the hot pipes.
They couldn’t shop, eat or even sit where white people did. Federal laws were starting to ban such treatment, but changing attitudes took more than a few court rulings.
“It was awful,” Pinder said.
He was 27 when he arrived in Orlando to become a priest as The Episcopal Church of St. John the Baptist. His philosophy on civil rights was rooted in the Bible.
“Everyone is equal in the sight of God, and that became a ministry to me,” Pinder said. “What could I do as a child of God to better the situation?”
He became known as “The Street Priest,” organizing and mentoring young blacks who were eager to advance civil rights. Like King, Pinder stressed nonviolence and decorum.
Protesters often wore their Sunday best, sang hymns and tried to show they deserved to be treated with dignity, not night sticks.
Protests flared throughout the South in the spring of 1960 after college students in North Carolina were refused service at a Woolworth’s lunch counter. On March 6, 12 young blacks walked into the Woolworth and Kress stores in downtown Orlando at lunchtime.
Kress employees quickly removed the stools and both diners closed. Orlando police did not send any officers to the scene, but a patrolling officer entered after 15 minutes and the protesters left.
Orlando Police Chief Carlisle “Stoney” Johnstone was no Bull Connor, the Birmingham, Ala., Commissioner of Public Safety who became the living embodiment of Jim Crow.
Connor unleashed fire hoses and attack dogs on protesters. Pinder said Johnstone worked with black leaders to keep relative calm.
“He was a decent man,” Pinder said. “I believe his family had good Christian roots. I just believe he wanted to do the right thing for Orlando.”
He wasn’t alone. Pinder said business leaders like Sears General Manager Clyde West were sympathetic to the cause. There was civil rights attorney Jerry Bornstein and Joe Brechner, the founder of WFTV Channel 9.
Local media, including the Sentinel, often downplayed desegregation issues. Brechner put on an hour-long show on Sundays in which community leaders confronted them.
“We didn’t do ice cream and cake kind of discussions,” Pinder said. “They were open and friendly but sometimes got a little hostile.”
The show helped people understand what it was like to be black. It was the kind of “conversation on race” people say is missing today.
Nobody is saying Orlando does not still have racial issues and AfricanAmericans are living happily ever after. But Pinder could say today’s problems pale when compared to what life was like 60 years ago.
Imagine this being news today: “Lunch Counters Serve Negroes,” a Sept. 9, 1960, the Sentinel headline read.
The next year, Carr ordered “colored” and “white” signs removed from restrooms and drinking fountains at City Hall, the police station and city parks. Businesses started treating blacks like customers, not intruders.
“When you’re hungry, you could get something to eat,” Pinder said. “And you could try on a dress in a store or a suit or a hat and didn’t have to worry about people telling you that you had to buy it or you couldn’t try it on.”
The Kress Building is now home to Kres Chophouse, an upscale steak house. F.W. Woolworth’s store was demolished in 2003 and replaced by a gleaming high-rise office building.
Pinder no longer preaches every Sunday, but he’s still going strong for an 86-year-old. He ventures downtown sometimes and appreciates how those old five-and-dimes aren’t the only things that have gone out of business.
“I see what’s happening,” Pinder said, “and I say, ‘My goodness, we’ve come a long way.’”
When it comes to true equality, we’re not there yet. But a man like Pinder can fly into town and Jim Crow is nowhere in sight.