‘Morehouse Man’ ends his tenure as school president

Errin Haines

ATLANTA — Walter Massey was a shy, black boy from Hattiesburg, Miss., unsure of his place in the world, when he arrived as a 16-year-old freshman at Morehouse College.

Nearly 40 years later, he returned to change the school that changed him. His legacy as Morehouse’s ninth president includes a fundraising campaign that brought in $119 million in three years — almost $15 million more than he set out to raise — and helping the school land the coveted collection of more than 7,000 handwritten notes, letters and sermons by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., the school’s most famous alumnus.

But a high-profile hate crime and murder in recent years involving Morehouse students and alumni cast a shadow on the school’s reputation, threatening Massey’s goal of renewing Morehouse’s longstanding commitment to a culture of excellence.

On May 20, Massey will preside over his final commencement at the nation’s only historically black all-male college.

“When they write the history of Morehouse, they will certainly focus on the Massey years,” said Michael Lomax, president of the United Negro College Fund and a 1968 alum.

Lomax said the school’s image as extraordinary has broadened under Massey’s watch.

“Now, people know much more about Morehouse, they recognize its value. And he has ensured that the college has the financial resources to compete, as far as attracting strong students and faculty and ensuring that the academic programs are of the highest quality,” Lomax said.

Massey, who turned 69 in April, steps down as president on June 30. Robert Franklin — an Emory University professor, former president of the Interdenominational Theological Center in Atlanta and a 1975 Morehouse graduate — has been named Morehouse’s 10th president.

After 12 years as the school’s charismatic, energetic leader, Massey said he has left the school as it left him when he graduated in 1958 — confident and well-prepared, a stark contrast from who he was as a high school sophomore in Mississippi.

As the story goes, Massey’s mother asked young Walter to drive a group of students to take a test for early admission to Morehouse.
“When I got there, they said, ‘As long as you’re here, you might as well take the test, too,’” Massey recalled. “It was life-changing, to say the least.”

Of the handful of students who took the test, Massey was the only one accepted — joining the likes of Maynard Jackson, who went on to become Atlanta’s first black mayor, and King as early admission students.

Massey said that after his first week at Morehouse as a nervous teenager from the country, he was ready to leave the school near downtown Atlanta.

“Everybody was very smart,” Massey said. “My freshman roommate was from Dallas, and there were people from other major cities. I didn’t think I knew anything.”
He stayed and discovered that his professors and the upperclassmen were supportive. He found comfort under the big magnolia tree outside of Graves Hall, which reminded him of home. And Morehouse’s sixth president, Benjamin E. Mays, helped mold him and his classmates.

“There was this sense that there was certain kinds of behavior you were expected to adhere to,” said Massey, who would receive a bachelor’s degree in physics and math. “And it gave us all the sense that as a Morehouse student, you would be able to compete with anybody in the world.”

Sitting in his office, Massey has a stature that belies his slight build, and a personality that warms his formal surroundings. He is eager to show off his young grandchildren, whose pictures are strewn across his desk.

Massey has been particularly effective in fundraising for his alma mater.

“We don’t approach potential donors that we are this poor, little Southern school and we need your help,” Massey said. “What we say is Morehouse is thriving and of importance to the nation in producing leaders.”

Massey is also the first president since Mays to live on campus, commonly strolling across its 66 acres and among its buildings.

He was there when a student fractured the skull of another with a baseball bat five years ago because he thought the victim was gay.

“That was a very horrible time,” Massey said, adding that he felt the school was unjustly labeled by outsiders and the media. “We were more indifferent than hostile.”

Massey said Morehouse’s student body learned lessons from the incident about violence and tolerance regarding homosexuality, encouraging gay students to come forward and form organizations.

Then last summer, the body of 23-year-old student Carlnell James Walker Jr. was found in the trunk of his car after police say four former students broke into his home and bound, beat and stabbed him — looking for a $3,000 insurance settlement check that Walker was expected to receive.

Massey said the campus is still struggling to learn from that tragedy. Nothing in the students’ records provided a warning, he said.

This spring, Morehouse changed its admissions policy to require in-person or telephone interviews of all serious candidates. The school is also considering instituting a business casual dress code.

When he vacates his wood-paneled, book-lined office next month, Massey will leave with much to be proud of. Two Marshall scholars graduated under his watch. During his term, Morehouse also produced two Rhodes scholars, becoming the first historically black college to claim three among its alumni.

All members of Morehouse’s tenured faculty now hold doctorates. A new leadership center building opened in 2005.

Now, Massey looks forward to moving to Chicago with his wife, Shirley, and spending more time with his grandchildren. But he will still return to campus for homecoming games and commencement exercises.

“I’ll be an alumnus still,” he said, flashing a wide smile. “They can’t take that away.”

(Associated Press)