Civil Rights Leader & Texas Native
Volma Overton
Artist, Carol Hawkins
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VOLMA OVERTON
by Sue Hawkins McClure

My most distinct memories of Volma Overton are of a sweet faced soft spoken faithful greeter and giver of hugs to those who wanted them.  Volma had a kind word for all every person he met on Sunday mornings at my home church in Austin, First Baptist Church.  Seeing him sitting in the first pew with the rest of the deacons never failed to fill my heart with warmth and reassurance.  That's just the kind of man Volma was.  

When Volma joined our church in 1963 my family was proud that our church had welcomed him and his family with open arms.  Our church has been made a better place thanks to God's gift of the Overton family.  

As the years passed I moved away from Austin but my sister, Carol Hawkins, and my Mother, Martha, had the opportunity to share their lives with Volma and his extraordinary family.  Carol and Volma developed a deep and lasting friendship that endured until Volma's death in October 2005.  In part because of her admiration for this quiet man of faith and firm conviction Carol joined the NAACP and has remained a member for well over two decades.  But the greatest honor the Overtons gave Carol was making an honorary family member.  Several years ago Volma and family insisted Carol, as an Overton, should accompany them on a journey to Tennessee for a family reunion between the Overton slave descendents and the Overton slave owner descendents.  It was an amazing journey for all involved as the people who were formed by the history of their forefathers came together to love and accept each other, celebrate their heritage, and share family stories.

I wasn't aware, till just the last few years, as Carol shared "Volma stories" with me, what a truly amazing and courageous pioneer Volma Overton was.  I just knew I loved him as a fellow child of God. 

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Compiled from multiple sources:

VOLMA OVERTON

As national civil-rights champion Rosa Parks lay in honor in the United States Capitol Oct. 31, 2005, a local pioneer in advancing the cause of racial justice died in Austin, Texas.  Long time civil rights activist, Volma Overton, was 81 years old.

After the Civil War a former slave, Emmaline, took the last name of her former owner and settled in Maha, Texas (a community outside Austin).  Her great-great-grandson was born in Maha in 1924.  He was named Volma Overton. 

Overton would grow up to become one of the major players in the civil rights movement in Austin, Texas as well as other southern states.

Overton attended the still-segregated local school in Maha before moving to Austin where he attended the still-segregated old L.C. Anderson High School

During World War II, Overton served in the still-segregated Marine Corps which didn't trust blacks enough to send them into combat .  After the war ended, Overton returned to Austin, married Warneta, and got a job as a postal worker. 

He joined the Army Reserve, he eventually rose to the rank of lieutenant colonel.

Overton was riding an Austin city bus one day when he was ordered to give up his seat to a white person. "A young and rebellious Volma at first refused to move," writes Carolyn Jones in her just-published biography,  'Volma: My Journey'. "He finally got up, but did not move to the rear of the bus. He simply got off, with the determination that he would do something about the Jim Crow practices that were taken for granted in Austin and throughout the South."

Volma Overton was a contemporary of Martin Luther King Jr., and marched in Selma, Ala., with the civil-rights great. In the 1960s, Overton led demonstrations and sit-ins at the city's then-segregated restaurants and other public accommodations.

In 1962, Overton became president of the Austin branch of the NAACP, a position he held for 20 years.  Overton became a force to be reckoned with as, one by one, those who stood in the way of civil rights in Austin crumpled under the iron will and Christian determination of the man. The Austin City Council in the late Sixties, the Austin Independent School District, and the U.S. Postal Service all learned that Volma Overton was a force to be reckoned with. 

From 1962, until he chose not to run for reelection in 1983, Overton had a hand in almost every aspect of the civil rights movement in Austin, including the school busing issue.  That fight, which began with a federal lawsuit filed against the Austin Independent School District in the summer of 1970, was not settled until 1979.

In 1970 Overton agreed to let his daughter, DeDra, be named the chief plaintiff in the desegregation lawsuit against Austin's public schools.  The family endured many death threats and at least one cross burning on their lawn during that difficult time.  But Overton's determination never waivered.

Overton not only helped integrate the city's schools, but he also helped integrate Austin's most prominent Baptist church.

In 1963, Overton became the first African-American since Civil War days to join Austin's First Baptist Church. He was a longtime deacon and still an active member of the congregation at the time of his death.

In 2004, Overton spoke at a civil rights symposium sponsored by the LBJ School of Public Affairs, which commemorated the 40th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act. In his speech, Overton said, "I stand here tonight ... aware of the meaning and the purpose of honor. It is a symbol of our common striving, our victories, our determination and our firm belief in the ultimate triumph of good, of freedom, of equality, which we all seek."

Current Austin-chapter NAACP President Nelson Linder knew Overton well and said he was "very warm, very positive."

Linder recalled Overton's devotion to the civil rights cause, especially in Austin, as being "courageous." A couple of years ago, Linder said, a retired Overton attended an NAACP hearing early on a Saturday morning to make a presentation that was "devoted, dedicated and helpful."

The Austin branch of the NAACP has an award named after Overton, in honor of his commitment to civil rights.

"He worked tirelessly. He's a legend," Linder said. "And he will be sorely missed."

Alberta Phillips, a reporter for the Austin American Statesman, wrote "When I first met Volma Overton in 1987, I thought I was shaking hands with the wrong person. Volma, as everyone called him, was soft-spoken, polite to a fault and unpretentious. He grinned, tipped his head and uttered a barely audible greeting. I wondered how this unassuming man could possibly be the civil rights champion Austinites spoke of with such reverence.

I would come to learn that Volma was a man of a few, but important, words.

Over the years, I also would come to understand that Volma's mild manner was a powerful tool in breaching Austin's walls of segregation. His disarming grin cloaked a dogged desire for dignity. It occupied so much space in Volma's character that there was little room for fear.

'Sometimes, the softer voice is the most effective,' said Ada Anderson, a community leader and friend of Volma's. 'No one doubted Volma's courage because he repeatedly put his job and personal safety on the line to advance civil rights.'"

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A leap of faith: crossing the color line on Sunday
by Alberta Phillips

copyright Austin American-Statesman
Saturday, November 12, 2005

< In addition to being senior pastor of First Baptist Church in downtown Austin, the Rev. Dr. Roger Paynter is instructor of preaching at ETS>

When it comes to worship, crossing Interstate 35 is akin to crossing the Jordan River.

I went to the predominantly white First Baptist Church downtown last week to attend the funeral of Volma Overton, who led efforts to desegregate Austin public schools. I had secretly hoped the civil rights leader's funeral would be in a black church on Austin's east side. He was, after all, "our champion." Didn't we deserve the honor of sending him home?

But the Rev. Roger Paynter, pastor of First Baptist, grabbed my attention when he said aloud what many of us were thinking. Overton had switched his membership to First Baptist more than 40 years ago, wounding African Americans who believed that he preferred a white church over a black one. Paynter revealed a simple truth about Overton's act of faith, which also generated backlash from whites: First Baptist and the white community needed Overton more than the African American church or black community. He was their hero, too.

"He took this city on a journey. It was resistant. In the end, Volma raised the humanity of all of us," Paynter said. "Segregation was just 35 years ago. Can we grasp that?"

To understand the significance of Overton's courageous leap of faith, keep in mind what was going on that year — 1963. Medgar Evers was gunned down in Mississippi for registering blacks to vote, and it was a year before Congress passed the 1964 Civil Rights Act that integrated public facilities across the South, including Texas. In Austin, black men who attended the University of Texas were housed in barracks and females in dormitories designated for Coloreds. I-35 was as much a racial barrier as a geographical one.

Overton crossed the divide to become the first black member of First Baptist.

Paynter told a story that summed up Overton's value to First Baptist. Overton had read about an East Austin school whose predominantly minority students were falling through the cracks. The children were from mostly impoverished families, and the school had repeatedly been ranked low performing on state report cards. Media attention brought help to Blackshear Elementary students, but another school confronted similar problems. That school was Oak Springs Elementary, not too far from Blackshear.

As a church deacon, Overton asked the evangelism committee to send mentors and tutors to Oak Springs. Paynter explained to Overton that the church group was an "evangelism committee."

Overton countered: "Isn't evangelism about sharing Christ's love? Wouldn't that mean helping children who have all but been forgotten?"

No one disagreed.

That is what Overton did during his 42 years at First Baptist. He touched one person at a time, leading folks on a spiritual journey that brought them closer to God, Paynter said, by challenging church members to be better people. That required standing against racial discrimination and standing up for the equal rights and dignity of all people.

In following Overton's example, I returned to worship at First Baptist this past Sunday and was warmly welcomed. I learned another truth for which Overton stood: Each of us has the power to heal racial strife and eliminate racism. And we can start by attending a synagogue, mosque or church whose congregation is racially or ethnically different from our own. Maybe we could do that once a month, or on alternating Sundays.

It's been said that 11 o'clock on Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America. That certainly is true in Austin. But it doesn't have to be that way — if we're willing to cross Jordan.

aphillips@statesman.com ; 445-3655