Early in 1972, five men gathered in a small business office in Culver City, California listened as a senior vice president explained the company’s position on a legal issue. The SVP explained to the assembled men that the corporation, a nationwide small loan company, had been sued by the federal government — accused of racial discrimination in lending and hiring — and signed a “consent decree.” The decree admitted to no wrongdoing, but the company promised to do better in the future. The SVP pressed the point that the corporation was committed to fairness in lending and employment. To punctuate his message, he turned to the only African-American in the room. “And now, Clement,” he said to me, “even you can aspire to the presidency of the company.”
The United States Supreme Court will hear a case that will likely have an impact on the Fair Housing Act of 1968, though there is not a clear consensus on whether that impact will be positive or negative. The arguments will center on whether discrimination in housing has to be proven by specific intent in “sales, rentals, zoning or lending practices,” or if a policy’s “disparate impact” is sufficient proof. I believe that there are many individuals and groups who are wondering why this is still an issue. Some are weary of governmental oversight, some believe that it is still necessary, while others think it is not.
My first loan office assignment was in 1973, in Camarillo Cal. Previous managers had not followed company policy on the retention and destruction of records. The form on which an applicant’s information was recorded had spaces for home address, workplace and creditors, and a box to record race. Prior to 1972, the California offices I worked in had recorded whether the applicants were “N” or “S” (Negro or Spanish). After the consent decree, the box was expanded to include all racial groups, including “other.” On the reverse of the “app” was room for the manager to explain “turn downs.” I read comments such as “good job and credit, but ‘N,’ so cap at $500.”
For those who would sigh and say, “that was then,” let us fast-forward to 1980 and New Albany, Indiana. The small loan law had been amended to allow loans up to $25,000, secured by second mortgages on real property. My authorized loan limit was $10,000; loans over that amount had to be approved by a Real Estate Loan Approval Manager. There were specific qualifiers that had to be met for those large loans, including a title search, professional appraisal and the manager’s personal inspection of the house and neighborhood. The RELAM I got in 1980 asked for and received reports on all of the credit factors, then asked a question that was not found in the company manual that all employees had to memorize: “Is the neighborhood integrated?” My staff will surely remember my upbraiding of a man who was essentially my boss, asking him why, if that factor was important, it wasn’t in the company’s lending manual.
Discrimination is no longer as blatant and obvious as it once was. But when pool players in a Mooresville Indiana bar in 2013 feel comfortable in telling me about the infamous “sundown town” sign in Martinsville (which warns African Americans to be out of town by sundown) the proof of racism need not be greater. (There is no sign in Martinsville.)
The man who said to me that “even you” can aspire to greater things may have been unaware of the irony in his statement, but it is likely that he and others had acted on his silent bias. That is the reason why, in 2015, the Supreme Court is hearing a case about housing discrimination.