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Wed, Jun 05, 2019
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I could not let an opportunity to hear Former Mayor W. Wilson Goode Sr. speak when I heard that the former mayor was going to headline an event in Center City. The occasion was The Bishop Ernest McNear Faith Leaders Lecture and Breakfast, sponsored by Philadelphia FIGHT, at the Union League of Philadelphia.
Jane Shull, CEO of Philadelphia FIGHT, delivered the introductory remarks. In her comments she listed many of the former mayor’s accomplishments. The list of those accomplishments never seemed to end because just when I thought she was close to wrapping things up, she would list several more. Among the most impressive: Goode’s role in changing the city’s skyline and getting the convention center built.
The city skyline accomplishment was no small task. There was considerable opposition in the city in the mid 1980s against permitting the construction of buildings higher than City Hall Tower. Ed Bacon spoke out against the skyline change, as did many of the city’s “status quo” leaders. I wrote numerous letters to Mayor Goode at the time supporting the height change and I always received a polite thank you letter from him in response.
W. Wilson Goode Sr., who became a Baptist minister in the mid-1990s, took to the podium and told the mostly African American audience, “If you want to hear a sermon today, go to church.” He kept referring to his talk as a lecture and he mentioned that his 80th birthday was coming up in August and that he wanted to challenge people to “do more.”
So far what was coming from the podium sounded like a typical politician’s speech but then something changed. He did a little bit of sermonizing when he said, “We sometimes get confused when we read the Bible but God expects us to do something.”
In other words, faith and prayer without good deeds is pretty close to pointless.
The former mayor’s ‘growing up’ story is worth retelling. He grew up in a family of North Carolina sharecroppers. Sharecroppers lived and worked on farms that formerly had slaves, so Goode grew up under that psychic umbrella. His four brothers never completed the 8th grade but Wilson was the first to go to college.
A remarkable storyteller, he recounted something that happened in 1949 when he was 11 years old. He said he was in his house with his family, his mother cooking dinner in the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. “It was a hobo knocking on the door,” Goode said,” and he said he was hungry.”
His mother invited the hobo to come in and she began to feed him. “He ate and ate and ate,” Goode said, “and I was becoming upset because I thought he would eat all the food. But I saw my mother’s unselfish spirit and by the time the hobo left I was chasing after him after raiding my life savings of 50 cents. I gave Mr. Hobo that 50 cents.”
His North Carolina church family sent him to college. “Thank God for a church family who had faith and confidence in me,” he said.
In November of 1981 as the city’s Managing Director he said he was looking out at Love Park from his City Hall window when he saw 50 men standing there. “That same night,” he adds, “I started the first homeless shelter in South Philadelphia.” By the time he had completed two terms as mayor, the city had invested some 40 million dollars into services for the homeless.
After that the AIDS crisis hit and in 1985 he was soon consulting with David Fair to create the Mayor’s Commission on Health Emergencies. He then went on to establish the first literacy office and program in any city in the United States.
In May of 1985, came the MOVE crisis, in which 11 people were killed and more than 60 homes were demolished in West Philadelphia. (No mention was made of this during the lecture). Suddenly, everything else about W. Wilson Goode seem to disappear, all of his accomplishments, his extraordinary city ‘firsts,’ his work with the incarcerated; literally everything about the man boiled down to one negative talking point: MOVE. We see this sort of thing happening all over—in the lives of famous athletes, actors, politicians, writers. One mistake comes to define their entire career.
In September of 2018 after the city announced its intention to name a street in his honor in West Philadelphia, Goode had to defend himself at the dedication ceremony. In his speech the former mayor said that he “would not be defined by one day of his life,” as a dozen or more protestors yelled and screamed sentiments to the contrary.
This reminded me of what Theodore Roosevelt once said: “The only man who never makes a mistake is the man who never does anything.”
It reminded me of what Edmund Burke once said: “Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little.”
I also thought of George Bernard Shaw’s remark: “A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. “
MOVE in the late 1970s and early 1980s virtually held the city hostage, raiding and closing down “free speech” lectures at the University of Pennsylvania, and harassing neighbors near their Osage Avenue compound with loud bullhorns, garbage and unhealthy living conditions. Today, many revisionist MOVE “historians” tend to romanticize MOVE’s legacy and neglect to say anything about the group’s more hateful aspects.
During the Union League breakfast I jotted down a number of things the former mayor said. “If you have a position of power and influence you have to do something. It takes extraordinary people to do something that’s never been done before.”
There’s this: “God expects us to be a light in dark places. Work on behalf of people some think are unimportant.”
The former mayor ended his lecture with a Walt Whitman-like poem that began with the line, “Who among you will be that prophetic voice for----,” after which he went on to list homelessness, mass incarceration, inadequate health care, hunger, unemployment and so on.
The Union League lecture was a big hit. As he left the podium and meandered towards the exit in the midst of applauding admirers, I tried to get his attention and tell him that I liked his lecture but because he was being pulled this way and that I could only think those thoughts as I watched him leave the dinning room.
It was appropriate that the former mayor ended his Union League lecture with his own version of a Walt Whitman poem. The following day, May 31, was Whitman’s 200th birthday, and there was a vast celebration and reading of his poems in City Hall court yard. Organized by Whitman at 200, the opening program remarks were delivered by Mayor Jim Kenney and Kelly Lee, Chief Cultural Officer for the City of Philadelphia. Judith Tannenbaum, Artistic Director of Whitman at 200 and Lynne Farrington, Project Director of Whitman at 200, read closing last verses from “Song of Myself.”
I read a section from “Leaves of Grass.”
For an event so grand with so many presenters, it was remarkable how the vast majority of readers kept the focus on Whitman and not on themselves by not adding anything to the Whitman poem they were supposed to read. A couple of presenters, however, did flip into preaching mode, either advertising their upcoming readings or sharing their views on social justice issues. This is always a selfish thing to do.
It was exciting to see and hear the legendary Patti Smith who gave a free Whitman-themed mini concert right there in the courtyard.
During the event Philly Jesus hung out on the sidelines. Dressed in his trademark white robe and sandals, Philly Jesus stared into space as if hypnotized as the most sensual Whitman lines blared forth from the podium. I was afraid at one point that he was going to make a spectacle of himself and turn the event into a Jesus vs. Whitman spectacle but he kept a reverent silence. Philly Jesus hasn’t been in the news lately, so I’m sure his presence there had something to do with a possible photo op. Philly Jesus has gained a little weight since the last time I saw him—he’s quite chubby now, in fact—but his attitude seems to have mellowed a bit.
Yet this did not deter the occasional young black man from coming up to him and asking for a blessing or a healing as if he was the real deal and had the power to do all those things we read about in the Gospels.
Only in City Hall Courtyard, as they say…
Jane Shull, CEO of Philadelphia FIGHT, delivered the introductory remarks. In her comments she listed many of the former mayor’s accomplishments. The list of those accomplishments never seemed to end because just when I thought she was close to wrapping things up, she would list several more. Among the most impressive: Goode’s role in changing the city’s skyline and getting the convention center built.
The city skyline accomplishment was no small task. There was considerable opposition in the city in the mid 1980s against permitting the construction of buildings higher than City Hall Tower. Ed Bacon spoke out against the skyline change, as did many of the city’s “status quo” leaders. I wrote numerous letters to Mayor Goode at the time supporting the height change and I always received a polite thank you letter from him in response.
W. Wilson Goode Sr., who became a Baptist minister in the mid-1990s, took to the podium and told the mostly African American audience, “If you want to hear a sermon today, go to church.” He kept referring to his talk as a lecture and he mentioned that his 80th birthday was coming up in August and that he wanted to challenge people to “do more.”
So far what was coming from the podium sounded like a typical politician’s speech but then something changed. He did a little bit of sermonizing when he said, “We sometimes get confused when we read the Bible but God expects us to do something.”
In other words, faith and prayer without good deeds is pretty close to pointless.
The former mayor’s ‘growing up’ story is worth retelling. He grew up in a family of North Carolina sharecroppers. Sharecroppers lived and worked on farms that formerly had slaves, so Goode grew up under that psychic umbrella. His four brothers never completed the 8th grade but Wilson was the first to go to college.
A remarkable storyteller, he recounted something that happened in 1949 when he was 11 years old. He said he was in his house with his family, his mother cooking dinner in the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. “It was a hobo knocking on the door,” Goode said,” and he said he was hungry.”
His mother invited the hobo to come in and she began to feed him. “He ate and ate and ate,” Goode said, “and I was becoming upset because I thought he would eat all the food. But I saw my mother’s unselfish spirit and by the time the hobo left I was chasing after him after raiding my life savings of 50 cents. I gave Mr. Hobo that 50 cents.”
His North Carolina church family sent him to college. “Thank God for a church family who had faith and confidence in me,” he said.
In November of 1981 as the city’s Managing Director he said he was looking out at Love Park from his City Hall window when he saw 50 men standing there. “That same night,” he adds, “I started the first homeless shelter in South Philadelphia.” By the time he had completed two terms as mayor, the city had invested some 40 million dollars into services for the homeless.
After that the AIDS crisis hit and in 1985 he was soon consulting with David Fair to create the Mayor’s Commission on Health Emergencies. He then went on to establish the first literacy office and program in any city in the United States.
In May of 1985, came the MOVE crisis, in which 11 people were killed and more than 60 homes were demolished in West Philadelphia. (No mention was made of this during the lecture). Suddenly, everything else about W. Wilson Goode seem to disappear, all of his accomplishments, his extraordinary city ‘firsts,’ his work with the incarcerated; literally everything about the man boiled down to one negative talking point: MOVE. We see this sort of thing happening all over—in the lives of famous athletes, actors, politicians, writers. One mistake comes to define their entire career.
In September of 2018 after the city announced its intention to name a street in his honor in West Philadelphia, Goode had to defend himself at the dedication ceremony. In his speech the former mayor said that he “would not be defined by one day of his life,” as a dozen or more protestors yelled and screamed sentiments to the contrary.
This reminded me of what Theodore Roosevelt once said: “The only man who never makes a mistake is the man who never does anything.”
It reminded me of what Edmund Burke once said: “Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could do only a little.”
I also thought of George Bernard Shaw’s remark: “A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing. “
MOVE in the late 1970s and early 1980s virtually held the city hostage, raiding and closing down “free speech” lectures at the University of Pennsylvania, and harassing neighbors near their Osage Avenue compound with loud bullhorns, garbage and unhealthy living conditions. Today, many revisionist MOVE “historians” tend to romanticize MOVE’s legacy and neglect to say anything about the group’s more hateful aspects.
During the Union League breakfast I jotted down a number of things the former mayor said. “If you have a position of power and influence you have to do something. It takes extraordinary people to do something that’s never been done before.”
There’s this: “God expects us to be a light in dark places. Work on behalf of people some think are unimportant.”
The former mayor ended his lecture with a Walt Whitman-like poem that began with the line, “Who among you will be that prophetic voice for----,” after which he went on to list homelessness, mass incarceration, inadequate health care, hunger, unemployment and so on.
The Union League lecture was a big hit. As he left the podium and meandered towards the exit in the midst of applauding admirers, I tried to get his attention and tell him that I liked his lecture but because he was being pulled this way and that I could only think those thoughts as I watched him leave the dinning room.
It was appropriate that the former mayor ended his Union League lecture with his own version of a Walt Whitman poem. The following day, May 31, was Whitman’s 200th birthday, and there was a vast celebration and reading of his poems in City Hall court yard. Organized by Whitman at 200, the opening program remarks were delivered by Mayor Jim Kenney and Kelly Lee, Chief Cultural Officer for the City of Philadelphia. Judith Tannenbaum, Artistic Director of Whitman at 200 and Lynne Farrington, Project Director of Whitman at 200, read closing last verses from “Song of Myself.”
I read a section from “Leaves of Grass.”
For an event so grand with so many presenters, it was remarkable how the vast majority of readers kept the focus on Whitman and not on themselves by not adding anything to the Whitman poem they were supposed to read. A couple of presenters, however, did flip into preaching mode, either advertising their upcoming readings or sharing their views on social justice issues. This is always a selfish thing to do.
It was exciting to see and hear the legendary Patti Smith who gave a free Whitman-themed mini concert right there in the courtyard.
During the event Philly Jesus hung out on the sidelines. Dressed in his trademark white robe and sandals, Philly Jesus stared into space as if hypnotized as the most sensual Whitman lines blared forth from the podium. I was afraid at one point that he was going to make a spectacle of himself and turn the event into a Jesus vs. Whitman spectacle but he kept a reverent silence. Philly Jesus hasn’t been in the news lately, so I’m sure his presence there had something to do with a possible photo op. Philly Jesus has gained a little weight since the last time I saw him—he’s quite chubby now, in fact—but his attitude seems to have mellowed a bit.
Yet this did not deter the occasional young black man from coming up to him and asking for a blessing or a healing as if he was the real deal and had the power to do all those things we read about in the Gospels.
Only in City Hall Courtyard, as they say…
