On the top floor of the State of Illinois Building, Governor Thompson’s immense, glass-encased tribute to himself, five members of an Illinois Senate committee sat in a large hearing room one day last month and listened to testimony concerning the erection of yet another immense structure–one that would dwarf this one in both size and cost: the Chicago Bears’ proposed stadium south of the Loop. The chairman of the committee, Senator Richard H. Newhouse Jr., wore a gray suit, a white shirt, and a large, bright yellow bow tie that somehow seemed a bit more festive than the occasion called for. For almost two hours he was the soul of politeness, his huge hands frequently joined in front of his face in an almost prayerful pose. He made only occasional remarks to the witnesses, deferring usually to his senatorial peers.
Before the man from Labor could respond, Newhouse went on. “I am very concerned about the exclusionary aspects of organized labor. I’m trying to find jobs for young men and women, and I’m being outrecruited by the underworld! My kids are going to Stateville to get their MBAs. They’re coming out and doing well, in dope and crime and shakedowns . . .”
And just like that, the storm passed. Newhouse assured the government representative that he did not hold him personally responsible for racial inequities and even called him a “courageous person” for appearing before the committee. The next witness was summoned and the chairman resumed his meditative, listening posture.
Al Ragland, who has known Newhouse since 1963 and served as his chief of staff in the late 1980s, speaks in almost hushed tones of his friend. “He’s been a bright, authentic leader,” declares Ragland, “a man who never adjusted to the decadence of the black political tradition. To honor Dick is to honor all of us who strived for political independence.”
So why don’t we hear more about–and from–Dick Newhouse these days? Why isn’t he a candidate on the Harold Washington Party ticket, or at least a respected elder statesman for African-American interests? Why aren’t his opinions sought out and his comments duly noted in the media? Why was he so invisible during the Washington administration that Alton Miller, Washington’s press secretary, does not once mention Newhouse’s name in his 368-page chronicle of those years? Why, after all this time, is Newhouse still in the first political office he ever sought?
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Carol Moseley Braun, who is black, says she knows the complications well since she was married for many years to a “white Anglo-Saxon male.” She notes, “An interracial marriage really restricts your political options. The blind reaction of some people is just horrible.” She recalls vividly the anger expressed toward Newhouse when he attended the 1972 Black Political Convention in Gary with his wife. “People turned on Dick right there,” she says. “They wanted her sent out immediately.”
