Barbara Hankins, chair of the Travis County Historical Commission, wrote a letter to County Judge Sam Biscoe last week recommending that commissioners not name the old county courthouse for any of the people enthusiastic citizens had nominated in recent months as possibilities. “Members of the Commission discussed the issues thoroughly and voted to recommend that you retain the current name of the courthouse and to ask that the Travis County Commissioners Court honor the people nominated and other people who have made significant contributions to Travis County in some other manner,” the letter reads.
The recommendation came after the commission heard from citizens during a Wednesday public hearing about why a few individuals were worthy of having the Travis Co. Courthouse named after them. Most of the speakers extolled the accomplishments of civil rights trailblazer Heman Sweatt, who began his battle to open the UT Law School to black students in the Travis Co. Courthouse in 1946. Four years later, his victorious U.S. Supreme Court case, Sweatt v. Painter, helped clear the way for Brown v. Board of Education, the definitive U.S. school-desegregation case. The next largest amount of public support was for George Matthews, who worked for Travis Co. for 50 years up until 1950, much of that time as county judge, and is credited with laying the groundwork to get the courthouse built.
But in her letter to Biscoe, Hankins said, “A significant majority of the Historical Commission members believe that there are certain buildings, such as the courthouse, whose names should be as inclusive as possible and represent all of the people in the jurisdiction. Other examples mentioned were the White House, the U.S. Capitol, the Texas Capitol and various city halls.” Although commission members’ post-testimony discussion at the public hearing focused some on inclusiveness, it also seemed there was a polite hesitancy to choose one candidate over another. “We’ve come a long way, but we still have a long way to go, said commission member Bruno Schmidt, referring to Sweatt and the country’s history of racial segregation. Schmidt, along with other members, also noted that all the candidates were worthy of recognition. But he ultimately moved to not name the courthouse after any of them.
Biscoe said commissioners will probably vote at their June 14 meeting on whether to rename the courthouse. When Commissioner Ron Davis initially proposed renaming it after Sweatt a few months ago, Biscoe said, he was against the idea. “It didn’t strike me as a good idea to name it after anybody.” But he added that he hasn’t decided how he will vote.
Choosing to name the courthouse after any one individual will undoubtedly upset some in the local community, particularly people who were rooting for someone who wasn’t chosen; however, voting to name the courthouse after Sweatt could do more good than harm in the big scheme of community relations. Keep in mind that in the days of Sweatt’s legal battle, the courthouse was segregated. He had to enter from the back of the building through the door for “negroes,” and when he got thirsty during the course of proceedings, he wasn’t allowed to drink out of the water fountain from which the white county employees, white visiting attorneys, and white plaintiffs and defendants drank. Blacks swallowed water from a different fountain; that way nobody would have to drink after them.
It was this mentality that brought Sweatt to the courthouse in the first place. When the 33-year-old mail carrier from Houston applied to UT’s law school in 1946, he was rejected simply because he was black. Texas had no law school for people of his race at the time. Sweatt promptly filed a lawsuit against UT President Theophilus Painter. His case is the most legally significant the Travis Co. Courthouse has ever seen, as it helped lay the legal groundwork for school desegregation nationwide. The Supreme Court ultimately concluded that Texas’ new, temporary law school for blacks, created as a supposed solution to Sweatt’s lawsuit, didn’t provide a separate-but-equal educational opportunity; therefore, under the equal protection clause of the U.S. Constitution, UT was required to admit Sweatt to the law school.
Sweatt registered at the law school Sept. 19, 1950, but left in 1952 before finishing. Going against the grain at such an intense level had taken its toll. By 1952, before the age of 40, he had received death threats, his house had been vandalized, he suffered from ulcers, had gotten a divorce from his wife, and had had at least one heart attack, according to The Handbook of Texas Online.
Sweatt’s sacrifice paid off immensely for African-Americans everywhere, however, as after his case, the Supreme Court ruled in Brown v. Board of Education that segregation was unconstitutional under the 14th Amendment of the constitution. “I wouldn’t have gotten my degree if it weren’t for Heman Sweatt,” said hearing attendee Teresa Lewis.
Just as Sweatt’s legal journey created advancement opportunities for blacks all over America, naming the Travis Co. Courthouse in his honor would create a racial healing opportunity in a city and region known for its contentious relationship with African-Americans. “I’ve just gotten used to Travis Co. Courthouse,” said Biscoe, when asked why he’s not sure that it’s a good idea to rename the courthouse. What’s so wrong with change, though? As Lewis put it, “If not now, then when?”
This article appears in June 10 • 2005.