FEBRUARY 5, 2009
Bookshelf
Mean Streets
By FERGUS M. BORDEWICH
WSJ
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In "Levittown," a vigorous and often surprising narrative, David Kushner journeys into the racially charged heart of what newspapers once trumpeted as "the most perfectly planned community in America." Today Levittown serves as condescending shorthand for suburban conformity. But just after World War II, Levittown, N.Y., and its sister community of Levittown, Pa., symbolized liberation from crowded urban neighborhoods for families whose idea of the American dream was a private home and a patch of grass.
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Both Levittowns were conceived from the start as complete communities, themselves prefabricated, so to speak, with shopping centers, churches, pools, parks, curved streets for a rural feel and cul-de-sacs where children could play safely. The Levittown customer, declared Bill Levitt, was "not just buying a house, he's buying a way of life." By 1952, the Levitts were building one out of every eight homes in the country. Time magazine dubbed their company the "General Motors of the housing industry." But there was a snake in paradise: racial segregation. Buyers of Levittown homes were required to sign a statement that declared, in bold capital letters, that they would "not permit the premises to be used or occupied by any person other than members of the Caucasian race." Like many developers, the Levitts believed that racial integration was commercial suicide.
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The core of Mr. Kushner's story focuses on the campaign to desegregate Levittown, Pa., in 1957. He deftly splices together the experiences of two families at the center of what became a terrifying ordeal. Bill and Daisy Myers and their children were educated, friendly, quiet people -- just the sort of folks anyone would want to have next-door -- except that they were black. Their staunchest local allies were Bea and Lew Wechsler, labor organizers and longtime members of the Communist Party. The Wechslers were among the few whites who remained uncowed by the venomous racism that gripped Levittown that summer.
With the support of local Quakers and the NAACP, the Myerses moved into their Cape Cod-style "dream house" on Deepgreen Lane. They got more than they bargained for. Crosses were burned. Mobs waving Confederate flags staked out their home night and day. Rocks were thrown through their windows. Malicious callers rang their phone around the clock: "I will not let my children drink chocolate milk again as long as I live!" one irate woman yelled at Daisy Myers. Threats were made to burn them out. The local authorities refused to intervene. The police, for the most part, claimed that they were helpless to control the mobs. Many residents in fact blamed the Myerses for provoking all the "agitation."
Similar desegregation battles were taking places in many other communities at the same time. But Levittown was a national symbol of the good life for all Americans. "The very people of Levittown considered the standoff as nothing less than the fight for the soul of new suburbia," Mr. Kushner writes. The Myerses' battle to stay in Levittown made national news. When the press began to condemn Levittown as "a disgrace to America," Americans everywhere began to question what kind of postwar communities they had themselves created. In the end, with the state attorney general behind them, the Myerses won their battle to stay. Several of their tormenters were convicted of harassment, and the demonstrations petered out. The mass flight that racist whites feared never took place.
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Mr. Bordewich's most recent book is "Washington: The Making of the American Capital."
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123379812229550391.html (subscription)