It was after 1 a.m., and all was quiet on Kansas City’s Benton Boulevard when a car pulled up short before one of the trim houses. Out stepped the driver and made his way to a sign in the front yard of No. 3714. Watching him from the window of his darkened house was the Rev. Earl T. Sturgess of Southeast Presbyterian Church. During the week he has watched many other motorists stop to examine his sign. It looks like a For Sale sign, like those in front of many houses in the neighborhood, but instead it reads:
NOT FOR SALE NEITHER MY HOME NOR MY MORAL CONVICTIONS. I BELIEVE IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD AND MY NEIGHBORS.
That sign heralded a revolution of sorts in Kansas City, Mo. Ever since World War II, the city’s colored population has been busting out of the downtown area recognized as the “Negro district.” The pattern was familiar and explosive: panic sales by white residents, mass meetings, homemade bombs, a few fast-buck real-estate men cashing in on the white flight from Negro neighbors. Few liked to talk about it in public, but one Sunday Pastor Sturgess brought the subject out into the light. “Whether it be a matter of selling one’s home or fleeing a fire, panic has made more fools, undone more men and killed more people than any other thing,” he said from his pulpit. “Christianity has been established by those who took a stand on moral convictions grounded in God’s will . . .” Instead of For Sale signs, said Pastor Sturgess, “I would love to see someone who had the fortitude to put up a sign: Not for Sale.”
The idea hit Benton Boulevard hard, and Not for Sale signs began to sprout throughout the neighborhood. So far, Southeast Presbyterian has sold more than 150 of the signs at cost. The tide is turning, and the exodus to get away from Negro neighbors has slowed down considerably. Sturgess’ church backed him up by voting to accept Negroes to membership. Last week a call came to Pas tor Sturgess from a couple in Johnson County, Kans. who had been considering moving to Sturgess’ part of Kansas City but were frankly nervous about it. “I told them,” said Sturgess, “that we have the best neighborhood in the world — that we have created a place where neighbors have gotten together and licked the toughest problem any Americans can face. And the Johnson County people decided to move right in.”
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