By Harry A. Stackhouse My Journey

I am an African American, the youngest of twelve children, born 1945 in Clarksdale, Mississippi, in a section called Little Africa, to two wonderful Christian parents, Andrew Stackhouse Sr. and Bessie Thomas. My parents were wonderful examples of Christlikeness. They were kind, respectful, honest, loving people who encouraged their children to live according to the Beatitudes and the 10 Commandments. Loving one another was always central to the Stackhouse family. We could talk about anything, but not argue about anything.

The racial climate in Mississippi was strongly pro-Caucasian… a nice way of saying “slave owner mentality”, and strongly anti-African American, a nice way of saying “prejudice”, but in Clarksdale my parents

were greatly respected amongst Caucasians. Being the youngest of 12 children produced a gap of 21, 20, and 19 years between my three oldest brothers and me. All three were drafted to fight in WWII. They were stationed in Europe and saw a better life. Upon their discharge, they moved to Waukegan to live with my aunt and uncle. Many African Americans were migrating to the North for a better life.

Once they had financially established themselves, two of my brothers bought a house and brought my remaining family to

Waukegan. Buying a house in the North for African Americans was very difficult. It was Jim Crow undercover. The banks would lend an African American money for a car, but not for a mortgage. They didn’t want to “let those Negros become property owners,” because land ownership signified equality. Despite earning more than almost any single white factory worker, my brothers could not get a loan. They had to have a cosigner, who was a well establish black police officer/property owner, to purchase 674 Kennard St, Waukegan, Illinois, my new home. The demographics of my new neighborhood began to change about 10 years prior to my arrival. At that time, the neighborhood was primarily Eastern Europeans, but with the influx of African Americans and Hispanics, the Europeans moved to the west side and the far north side of Waukegan. My four siblings and I entered school in Waukegan School district 60. All four of us attended McAlister Grade School. The schools in Waukegan were still predominantly Caucasian. I made friends quickly with African Americans, Caucasians and Hispanics. These were exciting times... new life, new friends, new culture, new future. I remember getting my report card in 3rd or 4th grade. I brought it home to show my mother. Looking at my report card she said while hugging me, “Man you are a smart little boy. You can be anything you want to be, but remember you are Colored and you will have to work harder than your little white friends to get the same things in life, but it never hurts to be nice.” This is the first time I can remember race being mentioned in my life. I never heard the term used in Clarksdale…I guess it was understood.

She gave this little 3rd or 4th grader a lesson on how to live a successful life. Let’s interpret her statement: “You are a smart little boy” means “you can achieve as well as your white peers;” “you are colored” means “the deck is stacked against you but still achieve;” and lastly, “it never hurts to be nice “ means “although things are not fair, be nice or kind.” I have never forgotten that lesson and it has carried me through tough times in my adolescence and adult life.

Church was an important part of my family’s life. We attended Shiloh Baptist Church and participated in EVERYTHING the church did. We attended Sunday School, worship service, BTU (Baptist Training Union), Boy Scouts, youth choir, and Sunshine Band youth group. Although I was often in church or doing things that were church related, including teaching some Sunday school classes at age 12, I still had not given my life to the Lord.

I went from McAlister Grade School to Thomas Jefferson Junior High and from there to Waukegan Township High School. At Waukegan Township High, I experienced no overt prejudice among my classmates. I was an athlete and in the popular circles where I mingled with all races. I played football and wrestled. Our wrestling team was a close-knit group composed of 6 whites and 6 blacks. We were Illinois State Champions 2 of my 4 years. Our wrestling coach wanted our team to wrestle the best high schools in the country. Once, we wrestled against the Indiana High School State champions ARTICLES | ART | VOICES FROM THE COMMUNITY | MOSAIC SPOTLIGHT

in Bloomington. Reservations were made weeks before we arrived, but upon check-in, the hotel manager refused lodging to our black wrestlers. Our team was livid. Our coach found us housing at the Kappa Alpha Psi Fraternity. Prejudice stared me in the face and I had to draw on the words my mother had shared with me many years before...” You are colored, but It never hurts to be nice.” She would say, “Never repay evil, with evil, because God doesn’t like “UGLY.” After graduation from high school, I went to college. I did not take college seriously, so my grades suffered, making me eligible for the Vietnam Draft.

During the 1960’s, race tension in the country was at a feverish pitch. There were race riots in Harlem, Watts, Detroit, Newark, Chicago, and even Waukegan. In the summer of 1965, Waukegan rioted. The Southside of Waukegan, my neighborhood, is where the riot took place. The police enforced a curfew on the Southside. I was returning from a weekend trip unaware of the riot and there were roadblocks at every major cross street. At the first roadblock, I was asked to get out of the car and to put my hands on the roof and to spread my legs. This would have been okay, but the search was done by an officer who had coached me in baseball. He acted as if he did not know me. I had to remember, I was “colored” and that trumped everything. When time came to enter the Army, my mother called me to her side and said, “I worried about your brothers going to war, but I am not worried about you, for GOD has His hands on you.” This statement would be evident throughout my

military service. While in the Army in 1967, I was trained as a personnel management specialist, a 71H30. I did very well in the training and chose to serve in Germany. I was assigned to the 24th Infantry Division. Once in Augsburg, I was to be assigned to work in personnel. A noncommissioned personnel officer, however, instead gave my position to an untrained white male. That officer gave me orders to be retrained as a frontline infantry soldier. I stared injustice in the face and had to draw on my mother’s wisdom “you will have to work harder…you are colored…it never hurts to be nice.” I could have chosen to be bitter, but I chose to be nice.

I wept as we traveled from Augsburg to Munich. Injustice had been served, but God had a plan. As I was being processed at B Company, the Squadron Commander arrived from a battlefield training exercise. He happened to walk by as my processing officer said… “Oh! a 71H30.” The Lt. Colonel stopped and asked, “What is a 71H30?” The officer replied, “Sir, it is a Personnel Management Specialist”. The Colonel addressed me and said, “PFC what do you know about personnel?” I responded, “Everything sir.” He assigned me to a personnel NCO position. Three times I was placed on orders for Viet Nam and three times the orders were revoked. God had His hands on me. I ended up seeing the NCO who had ordered my reassignment regularly. He and I eventually became friends. “It never hurts to be nice.”

After being discharged, I returned to Waukegan and entered college while working full time at a clothing store I

bought with a partner. I met the lady who would eventually become my wife. We married and had our first child. She gave her life to the Lord and a year later I did as well. Once our journey in Christ began, things were never the same. Five years later, I responded to God’s call and was licensed in 1979 and ordained in 1981 as a minister of the Gospel. Deborah and I worked as youth pastors. We started a youth group at our church and God blessed that group to grow to 135 youth.

My wife and I, with the help of the Lord, founded The Sign of the Dove Church in our basement in 1989. The Lord was clearly present. When the founding 6 members gathered at my house for prayer and the choosing of a name, we sought God’s confirmation. We chose three possible names and told each person to pray. Each person returned convicted of the same name. A week later, God confirmed the name by having 2 white doves rest upon my TV antenna.

We took the Gospel to the streets of Waukegan, to the homeless and disenfranchised. We witnessed, fed the hungry, and wrote resumes for jobs. Eventually, the city of Waukegan forced us off the streets, because we were ministering on a main thoroughfare for the affluent to bring their boats to the marina. Waukegan was embarrassed. Immediately, we called the church to pray. Some wanted to fight the city and others were undecided, but the Lord quickened my heart, “…It never hurts to be nice.” After an early prayer, I went to meet with Mayor of Waukegan. I arrived at the Mayor’s office without an

appointment. The mayor heard my voice and invited me into his office. I told him that I was not going to fight him because he and I wanted the same thing…that which is best for Waukegan. He reached into his desk and gave me the keys to our current building. We later bought the building from the City. I have always believed that the Church of Jesus Christ should be unified, so I have dedicated my life to bringing the body of Christ together…across racial, gender, age, economic, and theological divides. My family life taught me well about unity. As I stated early in this article…the 12 children of our family could, “talk about anything, but we could argue about nothing.” We were compelled to treat everyone nicely even when in disagreement. ARTICLES | ART | VOICES FROM THE COMMUNITY | MOSAIC SPOTLIGHT