Frank Wilkinson, 1915–2006 He “Outlived Those Bastards”  

C ivil liberties activist Frank Wilk inson had a presence that filled a room in life and it did so again after his death January 2, 2006 at the age of 91. It was standing room only at the Holman United Methodist Church in Los Angeles where I joined some 700 other people at a memorial and celebration of Frank’s life. I worked with Wilkinson for over 30 years, and many in the audience had that same honor. We shared memories of Frank with his family, his wife of nearly 40 years, Donna, the assorted children from two marriages, nearly a score of grandchildren, and six greatgrandchildren. 

Wilkinson did not start out as a civil liberties activist, but as a housing activist engaged in the struggle for civil rights; first with a Los Angeles Catholic coalition seeking better housing for the poor, and then with the Los Angeles Housing Authority (LAHA). As an activist, Wilkinson had pestered the LAHA to build better housing in better locations, and to create integrated communities (this was in 1942)—decades before the law and society caught up with these ideas. Over the next few years Wilkinson did just that, against the advice of his friends in the Communist Party who thought Los Angeles was not ready for integration. 

This was, after all, the Los Angeles of rising bigotry and violence against Mexican Americans, especially young men called “pachucos.” These were rebellious youth who wore baggy pants, “Zoot Suits,” or other flashy apparel, and who refused to be servile in public. 

Despite this history of bigotry, Wilkinson had a dream of building decent integrated public housing for the poor. In the 1940s and early 1950s there was a thriving poor and working class community near downtown Los Angeles. It was in the hilly terrain of Chávez Ravine that three villages—La Loma, Bishop, and Palo Verde—were home to over 1,000 people, including many Mexican Americans. It was nicknamed the “Poor Man’s ShangriLa.” 

Wilkinson had the job of convincing residents that if they supported a public housing project in Chávez Ravine, they would get first choice of the new rental units, a promise guaranteed in writing by LAHA. Some resisted, but others agreed. Support grew. The LAHA scheduled hearings in 1952 for taking 35 acres through eminent domain. It was to be an integrated community. “It meant bringing black and brown people and Asian people out of ghettos of various kinds and have them living with Anglo people in Chavez Ravine,” Wilk inson later told a newspaper. 

Wilkinson had collared his friend Richard Neutra, a Los Angeles architect with an international reputation, to design the public housing units for a variety of income levels with singlefamily homes alongside lowrise and highrise apartments. There would be parks, playgrounds, and adequate parking for the projected 3,500 residents. Space was left for building elementary schools and shopping centers. This was prime real estate just north of downtown—and that was the problem. Powerful political and real estate interests began to organize against the plan. A diversionary scapegoat was needed. The Committee Against Socialist Housing was formed. 

I n the midst of the “red scare,” Wilkinson was testifying about rat infestation when an attorney for a developer asked him to name all the organizations he had belonged to since high school. Wilkinson knew what they were after, but he tried to bluff his way through by talking about being in Youth for Herbert Hoover and other organizations. The attorney, however, had been fed information from an FBI dossier provided to the LA chief of police.  

Wilkinson refused to answer further questions about his political memberships and he was promptly fired. Wilkinson then was called before a California state committee investigating subversion. A group of schoolteachers wrote to support him and they too were fired. Meanwhile, the Los Angeles Times carried screaming headlines demanding a “red probe” of the LA Housing Authority. The City Council, which had unanimously supported the Chávez Ravine housing project, suddenly killed the plan—with rumors of bribes from real estate interests. 

It was hard on the family, especially the children. Frank’s son Tony told us at the memorial: “We knew our phone was tapped. We knew about the phone calls of silence…we knew about the parked cars with men in suits.” The FBI learned of an assassination attempt targeting Wilkin son and did not warn him or his family. The FBI instead staked out the Wilkinson house waiting to see what happened. Tony said this was part of a pattern. “Later, we heard the explosion of the firebomb on our front stairs. We saw the painted swastika. We knew about the death threats; one that was signed warned Wilkinson to ‘make your final preparations….’ The response from LA county sheriff was: ‘That’s not a threat, that’s just good advice’.” 

Wilkinson eventually found work as the night custodian of a store owned by a sympathetic ally who insisted the job would last only as long as it was kept a secret.