Subsidized Bigotry

At any time of day, the welcoming day rooms and lounges of Fellowship Towers are dotted with calm, cheerful people living out their retirements in secure, attractive surroundings. For nearly twenty years, the tall building at 222 East Indianola Avenue has opened its arms to hundreds of old men and women in need of a clean, well-lighted place to live. And for nearly twenty years, every single one of them has been white.

That is not unusual in Phoenix. What is unusual is that each month, thousands of dollars in federal rent subsidies pour into Fellowship Towers, dollars meant to ensure that its aged tenants are housed safely and comfortably. Federal housing officials chime praises for the good management and orderly appearance of the high-rise retirement home, founded and run by the fraternal order of Arizona Odd Fellows and Rebekahs.

But in all the time Fellowship Towers has enjoyed the benefits of federal housing subsidies, loans and a tax-free status, it has never opened its arms to a single black person seeking a home–in fact, it is the only federally subsidized old folks housing in Phoenix with no blacks.

Odd Fellow officials in charge of the home say there’s nothing sinister going on. They claim that personal preference and, yes, pure chance are the reasons no black has lived at Fellowship Towers since its founding in 1972.

“Bull,” says one former employee.
“When I came to work here, the former manager, whose wife is still on the board of directors, told me, `The only way you’ll ever get fired from this job is to steal money or let a nigger in the front door,'” says Robert Pratt of Scottsdale, who managed Fellowship Towers from 1988 until his firing in July of 1989.

Pratt is one of a half-dozen former employees interviewed by New Times who claim discrimination against blacks is a verbal, if not written, policy laid down and stringently enforced by the home’s directors, all influential members of the state Odd Fellows organization. The whistle-blowers allege that applications filed by blacks were tossed in the trash, and the blacks who persisted were told, “You wouldn’t feel comfortable here.” Employees who questioned discriminatory practices were subject to harassment and termination, they say.

Finally, last December, an office worker disgusted with what she calls “blatant racism” decided somebody had to spill the beans about what was going on at Fellowship Towers. Surely, thought Vicky Passwater, somebody in charge of enforcing state or federal fair-housing laws would care.

After all, even as she put pen to paper, the state Attorney General’s Office had begun lobbying state legislators to expand its jurisdiction and, of course, its funding in the area of fair-housing law.

Passwater had supporting statements from her former boss, Bob Pratt, as well as several other former employees. She had at least one damning document in her possession: a copy of an application on which a Fellowship Towers employee had written, “This man is very black.”

But if Vicky Passwater expected a hero’s welcome, or even tough action, from the officials who enforce antidiscrimination laws in this state, she was in for a big surprise.

VICKY AND MAURICE PASSWATER first came to Fellowship Towers as maintenance workers in 1988. They had been hired by Bob Pratt, who was manager at the time. As one of their benefits, the Passwaters lived on-site in a rent-free apartment.

“We thought it was a nice place,” says Vicky. “The residents were friendly. Bob was great. We really liked it.”

Almost at once, says Maurice, he was approached by a resident recruiting for the Odd Fellows. This was not unusual, according to Pratt.

“I was approached to join the organization when I applied for the job,” Pratt says. “They said it wasn’t mandatory but that things would go better for me if I was a member.”

Passwater says he was told the same thing, and joined willingly. At the same time, his wife felt pressured to join the women’s auxiliary, the Rebekahs. “It was put to me pretty much as, `You are expected to join Rebekahs if your husband is an Odd Fellow,'” Vicky Passwater recalls.

The Odd Fellows had founded Fellowship Towers in 1972 through a nonprofit organization, the Arizona Odd Fellows-Rebekah Housing, Incorporated. They manage the home through the corporation’s board of directors, and Pratt estimates that up to one quarter of the home’s approximately 200 residents are members of the group or its women’s auxiliary.

However, Pratt notes, the directors are not exempt from federal fair-housing rules which prohibit discrimination based on color, creed or religion. There is also a prohibition against limiting residency to members of the two sponsoring societies.

“The home’s owners actually are under a double obligation to avoid discrimination because they are so heavily subsidized by the federal government,” Pratt says. The Odd Fellows built Fellowship Towers using a $5 million loan, obtained at 1 percent interest, from the Federal Home Mortgage Association. The home also receives $14,000 each month from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), which subsidizes rents on all but 40 of the 180 apartments.

But once they began attending Odd Fellows and Rebekah meetings, both Pratt and the Passwaters say they encountered unabashed bigotry–toward blacks, in particular. “It was almost surreal, like they were living in another time,” Pratt says. “At meetings of the Fellowship Towers board, the directors would brag openly to me that, `There’s never been a nigger and damn few Jews and Mexicans here.’ “Their written policy called for a series of screening committees to review an application from anyone questionable, which could include a suspected alcoholic or bad credit risk,” Pratt says. “But I was given to understand any application from a black was automatically in that category.” Since applications had to be made in person, racial identifications were easy to make.

A recent example shows how the policy worked. In January 1989, a 74-year-old South Phoenix resident named John O. Lee applied for residency at Fellowship Towers. Under his signature, in a space marked “Admissions Committee Action,” are the following comments:

“This man is very black. I explained to him that we have no Negroes in the building. He said he would not mind being the first. I suggested that the people here might give him a bad time and he said he could always get along with people. I also told him it would be about one year’s wait.”

The comments are initialed by Dorothy Sands, who recently retired after many years as the home’s official in charge of certifying residents to receive HUD rent subsidies. Sands declined to speak with New Times and repeated efforts to contact Lee were unsuccessful.

But a former assistant manager says Sands, described by Pratt as “very big in the Rebekah organization,” insisted on handling Lee herself.

“I was assigned to interview applicants and handle the paperwork,” says Barbara Lang, now a residential manager in Denver, Colorado. “But when Mr. Lee appeared, Dorothy got up from her seat in the back office and pushed past me saying, `I’ll handle this one, you don’t have the experience.'”

Lang later discussed the incident with Pratt’s wife, who supervised office operations. “She told me `That’s the way they–meaning the Odd Fellows–want it,'” Lang recalls.

R. Glenn Coker, president of the Fellowship Towers board of directors, hotly denies that the Odd Fellows or the home discriminate against blacks. Vernie Caldwell, the former manager whose wife is on the board of directors, also denies telling Pratt that the “only way to get fired is to steal money or let a nigger in the front door.”

“It is a fact there have not been blacks in Fellowship Towers, but the reason was they did not wish to live there,” Coker says. “There is no policy whatsoever of segregation; we have not practiced any discrimination whatsoever.”

He also acknowledges that there are no blacks in the Arizona lodge of Odd Fellows, an international organization whose current Governing Grand Secretary lives in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Coker and Caldwell insist, however, that lodges in other states have admitted black members and says the Arizona lodge does not prohibit blacks.

Coker declined to speculate on why blacks might not want to live at Fellowship Towers. “The only thing I can figure on that . . . we’ve tried very hard to get black people in there, but the fact that all the people are white or Hispanic might make them feel uncomfortable,” he says. “We get very few applications from blacks. I can’t tell you how many because we don’t keep track of them by race. And we do have a waiting list of about a year. By the time their name comes up, they’ve either moved or we can’t reach them. It’s just worked out that way.”

Coker says he does not consider Sands’ comments, or her conversation with Lee, racist. “If she said that–and I’m not aware of the application you’re talking about–it would just be meant in an informational way,” Coker says. “She wouldn’t want anyone to be unhappy living there, and perhaps she was afraid there would be resentment and then they’d be unhappy. Now, this is just speculation on my part, you understand. I have no firsthand knowledge of what occurred.”

Coker and other officials at Fellowship Towers contend the racism issue is being fabricated by disgruntled former employees who were fired over other issues and are now teaming up to cause trouble.

While Pratt was forced out by the board of directors over complaints from residents about his management style, Barbara Lang and her husband were not fired but resigned their positions last July. The circumstances under which they left make it unlikely that they and Pratt are allies.

“Bob Pratt was a little Hitler,” says Barbara Lang. “We left because we couldn’t stand him.”

LAST AUGUST, following the management shakeup in which the Langs left and Pratt was ousted, Vicky Passwater was promoted from maintenance to receptionist in the front office. “That’s when I began to notice things,” she says.

Up to that point, most of what she knew of racial discrimination in Fellowship Towers she’d picked up from casual comments made during Rebekah meetings or early-morning coffee klatches with residents. “The attitude of `whites only’ just permeates the place, like in South Africa,” Vicky Passwater says. “It’s mainly unspoken, yet it’s everywhere.”

Nor was she confronted with racism in her job–until, she says, the day last fall when an elderly black woman applied for residency. “Her name was Minnie Booker and she was very sweet,” Passwater recalls. “I took her application but she didn’t have all the information she needed with her, so I put it in a folder with the other incomplete applications and she was going to call me later. That was standard operating procedure for incomplete applications.

“The minute she left, Joy [Curry, the current manager] called out from the back office and asked if the woman’s application was complete,” Passwater says. “I said, `No, I put it in the folder here,’ and Joy said, `Well, if it’s not complete, then just throw it away.'”

Passwater says she refused to throw out the woman’s application and confronted Joy Curry. “I told her it was illegal and said, `If you want it thrown out, do it yourself.'” New Times’ efforts to locate Minnie Booker for comment were unsuccessful.

Passwater claims that Curry subsequently directed her to throw out all the applications of black people that she encountered while conducting routine purges intended to rid the files of outdated applications.

“The reason there aren’t applications from blacks on file is because they throw them out,” Vicky Passwater asserts.

Joy Curry, who manages Fellowship Towers with her husband Bill, denies giving such orders. “I have never had such a conversation with Vicky,” she says. “I didn’t direct her to throw away any applications. I have no way of knowing who’s black and who’s white on the applications taken before I came because we don’t make a note of it.

“Shortly after taking this position, I held a meeting of the office staff in which I specifically said we were to take applications from everyone and not to discriminate in any way,” Curry says. “I was very emphatic.”

However, shown a copy of John Lee’s application, Joy Curry says she does not think the comments of Dorothy Sands reflect either racism or an effort to discourage the applicant. “It’s just your own personal thing to make notes on an application,” Curry says. “Most of the time it’s done in the spirit of, do you think they would really like it here? I wouldn’t be discouraged if I were John Lee.

“If we’re destroying applications, how did you get hold of that one?” she says, referring to Lee’s application. “Can Vicky just say these things and you put it in the paper? I don’t understand this. There is no basis for the charges she is making, not a shred of evidence.”

Bill Curry, like Glenn Coker, questions the Passwaters’ motivation for making allegations against Fellowship Towers. “You have to consider that these are disgruntled former employees making these charges, out to hurt this organization any way they can,” he says.

Vicky Passwater admits she had other conflicts with Joy Curry but claims they also involved alleged discriminatory practices, such as giving preferential treatment to friends and relatives of ranking members of the Odd Fellows and Rebekah organizations. “When Joy called the meeting and said we were not to discriminate, it was in response to an incident in which a receptionist had been rude to a disabled man, and all she meant was that we in the front office were to be nice to everyone who came in,” Passwater contends.

In December, saying that she knew her days at Fellowship Towers were numbered, Vicky Passwater filed a complaint with the state attorney general’s civil rights division charging that she’d been directed to throw away applications from blacks, and that no blacks had been admitted to Fellowship Towers during its seventeen-year history.

The Passwaters were fired December 20. Their termination letters, dated one week after Vicky Passwater filed her complaint with the attorney general, do not give a reason for the dismissal. Coker, president of the Fellowship Towers board of directors, says the Passwaters were fired because they could not accept the Currys, who replaced Pratt, and were resentful at being passed over for promotion.

Within Fellowship Towers, however, many residents believe the Passwaters were fired for trying to get blacks in, says Kenneth “Scotty” Wood, a friend of the Passwaters who continued working as a maintenance man at the facility until recently. “After Maury and Vicky were fired, I overheard a resident ask Bill Curry if they were gonna have to let blacks in now, and Curry said, `No, we have lots of ways to make sure no one slips through, Mabel. First, we try to discourage them, and if that doesn’t work, we tell them it’s a long wait. And if we can’t get rid of an applicant by discouraging them, there is a screening committee . . . ‘”

Besides contacting the state attorney general, Vicky Passwater took her charges to the local office of HUD, which enforces federal fair-housing laws and oversees compliance in facilities receiving HUD subsidies.

She could vaguely recall the federal housing inspectors who periodically ambled through Fellowship Towers, checking office records, inspecting door fittings and the like. They took a pretty laid-back approach to enforcement, Passwater says, but she still wasn’t ready for the reaction her story inspired.

“HUD couldn’t have cared less,” she says. “They weren’t the least bit interested in anything I had to say, or anything I had to show them.” And the Attorney General’s Office was not much better.

HUD OFFICIALS admit they’ve long known that Fellowship Towers is the only federally subsidized old folks home in Phoenix distinguished by a complete absence of black residents. Less than three miles down Central Avenue, blacks and other minorities make up around one quarter of the residents of Westward Ho, another federally subsidized retirement home.

But officials in the Phoenix outpost of Washington’s most scandal-ridden agency say they accepted without question the explanation offered by Odd Fellows officials over all those years. “I never had a reason to doubt them,” says Jack Lafferty, a local HUD inspector responsible for Fellowship Towers during the past four years. “No one has ever complained to us about being discriminated against by Fellowship Towers.”

Prior to 1988, when the federal law was strengthened to give HUD more enforcement clout, fair-housing investigations could be initiated only when a victim of discrimination complained directly to the agency. And until recently, when an investigator was assigned to the Phoenix office, even first-person complaints had to be referred to HUD’s San Francisco office, says Dwight Peterson, manager of the Phoenix HUD office.

After being shown a copy of John Lee’s application to Fellowship Towers–with its notation from Dorothy Sands, “This man is very black”– Peterson told New Times, “I think the government would view her comments as discriminatory because the issue of race was even raised.”

Turning to other HUD officials sitting in on the interview, Peterson points to Lee’s application and says, “We need to find this guy.”

But even Peterson worries about the Passwaters’ motivation for whistle-blowing. “Do you ever ask yourself why they are doing this?” Peterson says. “I’m just curious if you go into that in the course of your research.”

Al Ackerman, the HUD official now in charge of overseeing Fellowship Towers, acknowledges that the Passwaters contacted him with their allegations, but says they “made a mistake” by taking their complaint to the state Attorney General’s Office. He says the state officials have been unwilling to share information, nor have they contacted him for information.

HUD officials say they transmitted the Passwaters’ charges to the agency’s San Francisco investigative office March 8, ten days after they claim to have first received the couple’s written complaint.”Most of my problem with pursuing this complaint is that I never got anything in writing from Vicky or anyone else,” Ackerman contends.

“That’s malarkey,” Passwater says. “I offered to give him everything [New Times] got months ago, the same time I contacted the AG’s Office, and he told me not to bother, that he couldn’t do anything about it. They didn’t get interested until the media got interested.”

State officials, as well as federal officials responsible for enforcing antidiscrimination laws, seem anxious to avoid embarrassing Fellowship Towers. While officials in the state attorney general’s civil rights division opened a case file on Vicky Passwater’s complaint last December, the agency so far has treated the matter as little more than a private quarrel between Passwater and Joy Curry.

Agency officials negotiated a confidential, out-of-court settlement dated January 12 between Passwater and Curry on the first charge, the alleged directive to destroy applications from blacks. They have taken no action on the broader allegation that blacks have been kept out of Fellowship Towers for seventeen years.

“We have a confidentiality provision in our act that prevents me from making any comment on any fair-housing complaint,” says Heather Sigworth, the assistant attorney general who negotiated the confidential settlement between Curry and Passwater. “Everything is confidential up to the point we file a lawsuit. I can neither confirm nor deny that we have received a complaint, or comment on what action has been taken.”

In Arizona, confidential settlements are the norm for housing-discrimination cases, state officials admit. In fact, none of the “thirty to forty” such complaints handled by the Attorney General’s Office since Arizona’s law took effect in January 1989 has resulted in a lawsuit, says Phil Austin, head of the attorney general’s civil rights division.

“Open agreements are not the secret to effective enforcement,” Austin says. “The key is a trained, effective staff.”

The federal government, however, disagrees. The federal law now requires HUD to make public its out-of-court settlements, and the deterrent value of such publicity is worth hundreds of extra regulatory officials sitting behind agency desks, say lawyers with the Arizona Center for Law in the Public Interest. “This is a big difference between the state and federal law,” says Tannis Fox, a civil rights lawyer with the center.

Civil rights attorneys criticize the state’s reliance on confidential agreements to settle discrimination complaints and its refusal to share information with HUD. “They are stretching the definition of the law to say the prohibition on making settlements public includes not making them available to other enforcement agencies,” says Kevin Lanigan, executive director of the Arizona Center for Law in the Public Interest.

Currently, Sigworth is spearheading an effort by the Attorney General’s Office to assume jurisdiction from HUD for housing-discrimination complaints filed with the federal agency. The bill, if approved, would give the AG’s Office more money and more power. Yet the state law remains much weaker than its federal counterpart, Center lawyers say.

And, they say, the attorney general’s kid-glove treatment of Fellowship Towers is an example of what worries them even more–the state’s attitude toward civil rights enforcement. “One of our big concerns is the historic tendency of the [state] civil rights division to mediate everything and to not take offenders into open court,” Lanigan says. “It is a symptom of the state’s failure to be an aggressive advocate for the victims of discrimination.”

Under terms of the Fellowship Towers settlement, a copy of which was obtained by New Times, the Currys or successive managers agree to maintain a separate log tracking applicants by race, and showing the outcome of the applications, for a two-year period. Vicky Passwater receives no personal gain from the settlement, and agreed not to file a civil suit over the issue as part of the settlement.

The Attorney General’s Office has the right to make spot checks of the record, but Passwater says she doubts the settlement will end racism at Fellowship Towers. More than a year–the usual waiting period–has passed since John Lee filed his application, she points out, yet he is not among the half-dozen new residents announced since the settlement took effect.

Lee, now 75, still lives in a housing project in South Phoenix, in a neighborhood swallowed by drugs and random violence. His apartment, separated from the street by a tall iron fence, is a few blocks from the home where unknown assailants recently fired a shotgun into a bedroom window, blasting away the eye of a little girl sleeping inside.

“IT’S TIME FOR THEM to just move on down the road,” says Lee Bacan of Pratt and the Passwaters. A Fellowship Towers resident, Bacan is a self- described ardent Odd Fellows member. “They’re undesirables, in my opinion.” But, he adds, “I will tell you something pertinent to this thing that there’s never been a black person living here. I don’t think they’re acting with good judgment to force the Odd Fellows and Rebekahs to have blacks in here.

“If I’m honest and you’re honest and the Passwaters are honest with themselves, we’d all agree that every time blacks start moving in, it will ruin the place,” Bacan says. “Whenever you have a concentration of blacks come in, you’ve got problems. Drugs, domestic problems, teen pregnancy.”

“Sure, the Odd Fellows and Rebekahs don’t want ’em here,” he says. “It’s not a written policy, we just don’t want garbage up here.”