Urban Legacy
James Gilliam founded the Metropolitan Wilmington Urban League at age 78, after already logging half a century of social service. And he's not finished yet ...
Delaware Today, January 2003

What keeps Jim Gilliam Sr., the 82-year-old executive director and founder of the Metropolitan Wilmington Urban League, out of retirement?

"My wife, every now and then when she gets annoyed at me, she gives me a little message," he explains, "such as, 'Get out of the house.'"

All kidding aside, he says, the real reason why he still knots his tie each morning and drives to his office in downtown Wilmington is because "there's still so much to get done."

Today, like most days, he's got a full schedule. Already, he's commuted to Dover for an 8 a.m. meeting, and now he's a guest of honor at the noontime Philanthropy Day awards ceremony at the DuPont Country Club.

He's introduced as a "Delaware legend" and a "national treasure," and when he's called up to accept his award, he blows a kiss across the table to Louise Gilliam, his wife of 58 years, and those creases his face has accumulated over his 82 years, they line up in perfect order around his wide smile.

Four years ago when Jim Gilliam agreed to found an Urban League in Wilmington at the request of then-mayor Jim Sills, he called everyone he knew and asked them to chip in $5,000 each for capital funding. Good thing Gilliam knew a lot of people. He's worked with some of the city's most influential business and political leaders over the years as the New Castle County director of the Delaware Department of Community Development and Housing and as the first executive director of the Greater Wilmington Housing Corporation, which he helped found.

Nine months after Gilliam committed to the Urban League project, the Metropolitan Wilmington Urban League was up and running, the fastest time in the 92-year history of the National Urban League that an affiliate was able to begin operations. Gilliam recruited Tony Allen, who at the time worked for Sen. Joe Biden, to serve as president of the Metropolitan Wilmington Urban League. Allen quickly accepted. "I wanted to work with him so bad," Allen says. "The beauty is, Mr. Gilliam is as respected in the corporate boardroom as he is in the grassroots community."

It's no overstatement to say that Gilliam's charm is one of the largest motivating factors for the Urban League's success. There's a line near his table at the awards ceremony to hug him. He's a ham in front of a crowd and yes, he's a bit of a flirt — he nonchalantly teases the waitress: "It's hard being pretty, isn't it?" That slightly mischievous, youthful charm has made him friends in high places and in low.

Consequently, there's no such thing as taking a quick trip downtown with Jim, Louise says. "We can drive into Wilmington, the downtown area, and it seems to me that he knows everybody and wants to stop and chat," she says.

"There's times when I have to say, 'Will you come on?'" she adds, laughing. "By this time, people understand that if he gets in a conversation, it's going to be long."

His energy, anyone will tell you, is boundless. "I don't have time to be tired," he jokes. There's no real secret to his stamina, he says. "But I'll tell you this: One thing that's for sure, I'm passionate about what I believe in."

Civic leaders for more than half a century have recognized Gilliam as a man who radiates action and initiative. He's most recently campaigned for one of the Urban League's top initiatives — parental involvement in education. It's a huge step in closing the achievement gap between minorities and their white classmates, he says. But he knows it's also a very daunting step.

"On a very personal basis, my mother maybe had a sixth- to eighth-grade education. She worked as a domestic," he says. "But I never had any question about going to school because my mother had very high standards for me."

Parents can help direct their child's education in a number of simple ways, he says. "There is no substitute for a family sitting around a dinner table," he says. "Parents who don't have a formal education can certainly tie in lessons from their life."

And identifying teachers and other suitable mentors — who can help students scholastically and also set a good example — gives young people a valuable tool, he says. He credits as his own mentors the teachers at Frederick Douglas High School in Baltimore — the only secondary school in Baltimore for black students at the time — who motivated him to do well.

Allen says Gilliam, in turn, served as a mentor to him. "The kind of experiences I've learned personally and professionally [from him] have been invaluable to me. I don't take those lessons lightly."

Gilliam works to increase the number of opportunities open to young people of color today. He meets regularly with leaders of churches with large minority memberships to promote the Urban League's mission and with organizations like the NAACP and Hispanic outreach programs to bring about common goals.

He campaigns for minority inclusion in trades and professions where color barriers persist to this day. He cites the building industry, but adds, "I'm finding right now that many organizations unknowingly have developed a culture of exclusion." As part of the campaign for inclusion, the Urban League created a Web site to help promote minority businesses and contractors and has helped facilitate the hiring of qualified minority professionals. The League also sponsors Project Blueprint, which encourages corporations to diversify their boards of directors to include people of color.

Perhaps the Urban League's most exhaustive project under Gilliam's leadership has been its summer 2002 publication "The Pace of Progress," one of the Urban League's major accomplishments as a research and issue-identification organization. The report lays out statistical data showing in clear terms the gap between whites and minorities in nearly every facet of life in Delaware, including education, economics, business, and criminal justice. Gilliam hopes the information in "The Pace of Progress" will spur efforts in Wilmington and in Delaware to close the gap.

Gilliam has always been particularly interested in housing and economic development, and he put his talents to use well before he became a Delaware fixture. Just out of the Army in 1952, he began working for the Housing Authority of Baltimore. By 1965, the Greater Wilmington Development Council asked him to move to Wilmington and help with some of its housing problems. After much discussion, Jim and Louise agreed to move, and Jim resolved to help the council develop better housing opportunities for minorities.

But their move was a difficult one.

"When we came to Wilmington, it was very difficult for us to find a place to live," Louise says. Because there were no open housing laws at that time, landlords and real estate agents could discriminate against the Gilliams because of their race. Jim — whose livelihood was helping minorities find housing — couldn't even get a tour through most homes because of his skin color.

"I was frustrated because I always thought he was a thoughtful person who knew what he wanted to do," Louise says, "but [he] was barred in so many ways because of the color of his skin."

They briefly reconsidered the move because of the trouble finding suitable housing, but they finally found a home they were happy with in the Compton Square area. However, it was 10 years before they sold the home they had left behind in Baltimore; it took Louise that long to feel sure that Wilmington would make a good home, although she suspects that Jim never had any doubts.

Within those 10 years, Jim established himself as a dedicated social worker and activist. He founded the Greater Wilmington Housing Corporation; served as vice president of Leon Weiner & Associates, overseeing the firm's housing programs; spent a year helping to integrate the Family Court System into one statewide unit; and became the New Castle County Director of the Delaware Department of Community Development and Housing, a position he maintained until retiring from the position in 1990 at age 69, and starting his own freelance consulting business.

Through it all, his family has stood behind him and he rarely speaks about his own accomplishments without mentioning and c