before a proposed member can move off the waiting list; and âthe dear old cozyâ Radnor Hunt, which, as its name implies, is a paddock for wealthy members of the horsy set.
For years, Americaâs suburban clubs have managed to lead an almost charmed existence. They were there, they catered to their membersâ athletic whims and fancies, they were restricted. The membership policies of the Gulph Mills Golf Club were no different from those of the Los Angeles Country Clubâexcept that the Los Angeles Country Club restricts against Jews and movie people, on the assumption that they are one and the same breed. All over America, people who couldnât join the clubs accepted the situation matter-of-factly, while those who could, whose backgrounds and pedigrees were up to club acceptability standards, waited patiently to be invited. Whether one couldâor wanted toâjoin a club remaineda strictly personal and private affair. Clubsâ policies went largely unquestioned. Freedom of assembly, after all, could be interpreted as freedom from assembly, and freedom of association as freedom from association. The feeling was: let people club as they choose.
Then, early in 1977, President-elect Carter announced that he âhopedâ those in his administration would voluntarily withdraw from private clubs which had discriminatory membership policies, though he would not require that they do so. It was certainly an unprecedented statement in the history of American Presidents and Presidents-elect. All at once, membership in exclusive clubs became an intense public and political issueâprivate no longer. And it started with Griffin Bell, the man whom Carter had appointed as his attorney general, the highest-ranking legal official in the country. Mr. Bell belonged to two restricted Atlanta clubsâthe Piedmont Driving Club and the Capital City Clubâand after lamely complaining that he would lose something in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars if he quit these clubs, Mr. Bell eventually did as he had been asked and resigned from both. Suddenly, a can of worms was opened in clubs all over the country, where, it turned out, the can had been lying about for a long timeâparticularly in Atlanta.
In the mid-1950s, for example, a group of German students had been brought to Atlanta as part of a student exchange program and, as a matter of course, was invited by the German consul general to the Capital City Club. During the visit, one student happened to ask, âAre there any Jewish members of this club?â No, he was assuredâperhaps on the assumption that this was what he wanted to hear. An extraordinary scene followed. One student burst into tears, and sobbed that the reason the club excluded Jews was the same reason six million had died. What started as a polite occasion turned into a rout, with students and club members shouting ugly accusations at each other. At the time, Atlantans who heard about the episode were shocked. But Atlanta, a city that considers itself the queen city of the South and prides itself on its hospitality, up-to-dateness, and efficiency, soon pushed the incident into the bottom drawer of its memory chest, and went about business as usual.
Now, with Jimmy Carter in the White House, the city is in an uproar again, calling itself unpleasant names. In addition to Mr. Bell, Carterâs ex-budget director, Bert Lance, turned out to havebeen a member of both the Capital City Club and the Piedmont Driving Club. He, too, elected to resign from bothâagain leaving the implication that membership in them ran contrary to the public interest. Did that mean, Atlanta wanted to know, that there was something wrong with its clubs? Suddenly Atlantaâs Capital City Club began to seem the quintessential city club, and the Piedmont Driving Club, on the outskirts of town, the quintessential country club, encapsulating all the problems of the American breed.
The
For years, Americaâs suburban clubs have managed to lead an almost charmed existence. They were there, they catered to their membersâ athletic whims and fancies, they were restricted. The membership policies of the Gulph Mills Golf Club were no different from those of the Los Angeles Country Clubâexcept that the Los Angeles Country Club restricts against Jews and movie people, on the assumption that they are one and the same breed. All over America, people who couldnât join the clubs accepted the situation matter-of-factly, while those who could, whose backgrounds and pedigrees were up to club acceptability standards, waited patiently to be invited. Whether one couldâor wanted toâjoin a club remaineda strictly personal and private affair. Clubsâ policies went largely unquestioned. Freedom of assembly, after all, could be interpreted as freedom from assembly, and freedom of association as freedom from association. The feeling was: let people club as they choose.
Then, early in 1977, President-elect Carter announced that he âhopedâ those in his administration would voluntarily withdraw from private clubs which had discriminatory membership policies, though he would not require that they do so. It was certainly an unprecedented statement in the history of American Presidents and Presidents-elect. All at once, membership in exclusive clubs became an intense public and political issueâprivate no longer. And it started with Griffin Bell, the man whom Carter had appointed as his attorney general, the highest-ranking legal official in the country. Mr. Bell belonged to two restricted Atlanta clubsâthe Piedmont Driving Club and the Capital City Clubâand after lamely complaining that he would lose something in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars if he quit these clubs, Mr. Bell eventually did as he had been asked and resigned from both. Suddenly, a can of worms was opened in clubs all over the country, where, it turned out, the can had been lying about for a long timeâparticularly in Atlanta.
In the mid-1950s, for example, a group of German students had been brought to Atlanta as part of a student exchange program and, as a matter of course, was invited by the German consul general to the Capital City Club. During the visit, one student happened to ask, âAre there any Jewish members of this club?â No, he was assuredâperhaps on the assumption that this was what he wanted to hear. An extraordinary scene followed. One student burst into tears, and sobbed that the reason the club excluded Jews was the same reason six million had died. What started as a polite occasion turned into a rout, with students and club members shouting ugly accusations at each other. At the time, Atlantans who heard about the episode were shocked. But Atlanta, a city that considers itself the queen city of the South and prides itself on its hospitality, up-to-dateness, and efficiency, soon pushed the incident into the bottom drawer of its memory chest, and went about business as usual.
Now, with Jimmy Carter in the White House, the city is in an uproar again, calling itself unpleasant names. In addition to Mr. Bell, Carterâs ex-budget director, Bert Lance, turned out to havebeen a member of both the Capital City Club and the Piedmont Driving Club. He, too, elected to resign from bothâagain leaving the implication that membership in them ran contrary to the public interest. Did that mean, Atlanta wanted to know, that there was something wrong with its clubs? Suddenly Atlantaâs Capital City Club began to seem the quintessential city club, and the Piedmont Driving Club, on the outskirts of town, the quintessential country club, encapsulating all the problems of the American breed.
The
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