Editor’s Note: In 1991 a clash erupted between the Tournament of Roses and local activists after the Tournament selected a descendant of Christopher Columbus as Grand Marshal of the Rose Parade.
On Monday, Pasadena Now asked Rick Cole, who was in the middle of that battle, for his thoughts on the issue all these years later. With the former mayor’s permission, the following has been converted into a guest opinion piece.
In 1991 the Tournament of Roses chose Cristóbal Colón, a Spanish nobleman and the 20th in a line of dukes descended from Christopher Columbus, as their Grand Marshal.
What rankled me about the announcement was not that the Tournament was recognizing a profound event in world history, but they were so cruelly and cluelessly ignoring the heated controversy around the “discovery” they were celebrating.
As Vice Mayor I released a statement that criticized “the extreme myopia of an organization totally controlled by aging white men” in glorifying the memory of “greed, slavery, rape and genocide” that accompanied the conquest of the Americas.
Neither the Tournament nor I were prepared for the firestorm that ensued. My comments were reported the next day on the front page of El País, the main newspaper in Madrid. Time Magazine would cover the controversy and historian Arthur Schlesinger Jr. would weigh in with an essay in Atlantic Magazine. Eventually, the Tournament would recognize their short-sightedness and invite Congressmember (and later Senator) Ben Nighthorse Campbell to be the Co Grand Marshall. This would further aggravate the Tournament’s white hot hostility to me when I showed up (at Campbell’s invitation) to the event at Tournament House announcing his selection.
Eventually a Tournament staff member was assigned to reopen communications with me and provide their side of the story. He took me behind the scenes to meet with Tournament leaders and volunteers to better understand the group’s working. They shared the reasons behind their reluctance to change their long-standing seniority rules to accelerate the inclusion of women and non-white members in leadership roles. They shared the steps they were taking, including creating a new leadership category as a pipeline to future leadership.
The cause of immediately integrating the leadership was taken up the following year by local civil rights leaders, who branded the organization “The Tournament of Racism.” When I rode in the next parade as Mayor, the LA Times City Hall reporter complained to me at the reception at the end of the route: “I lost a $10 bet on you.” “Why?” I asked. He told me he’d bet that during the parade I’d wear the “Tournament of Racism” t-shirt activists had printed up. I unbuttoned my shirt to show that I had in fact worn it underneath. He won the bet, but reported the next day that I’d “flashed” the shirt during the parade, an untrue urban legend I’ll never live down.
I publicly apologized, but relations remained frosty. For that first parade as Mayor, the Tournament had turned down my request to ride a horse, out of safety concerns. The following year they granted it without hesitation. To this day I think they hoped I’d fall off. But that year things got more serious as Jesse Jackson came to town and vowed to lead a counter-parade to stop the parade in its tracks if they refused to integrate their all-white, all-male Executive Committee.
Quietly, Vice Mayor Katie Nack and I assembled a small and diverse group of influential community leaders to meet with both the Tournament and the local leaders of the protest, Jimmy Morris and Danny Bakewell. We mutually pledged we would put combined pressure on whichever side refused to compromise. To our surprise, the Tournament was contemplating adding five women and people of color to their Executive Committee while the protesters were insisting on just four. But neither would negotiate with the other due to their extreme mutual mistrust. We eventually brokered the deal to add five new members, to be announced at Tournament House.
While every local and national media outlet in LA was waiting for it to begin, Morris and Bakewell made a last minute demand to reverse the order of speakers. Tournament leaders, fearing some nefarious double cross, adamantly refused. Time was ticking and the deal was falling apart over a trivial issue. I employed my most commanding voice to declare: “I’m the Mayor, and you are going to listen to me. There will be no change in the agreed-upon order of speakers . . . ” This was greeted by outraged reactions from Morris and Bakewell and relief from the Tournament duo. “BUT,” I continued, “at the end of the announcement, we will all hold hands above our head in a symbol of our unity!” This was greeted by howls from the Tournament. I assured them, however, the protesters would hold hands with me, I would hold hands with Katie and she would hold hands with the Tournament reps. They would be spared having to hold hands directly with their critics.
So that picture flashed around the world — all of us raising our hands in unity.
Years later I sat in the grandstands to watch Gerald Freeny ride down Orange Grove as the first Black president of the Tournament.
What do I make of all this now? I’m proud of all of us, including the Duke of Veragua who used his visit to the U.S. to make visits to Native American tribal leaders in a sincere effort at reconciliation. The leaders on all sides stretched toward their better selves and a better Pasadena.
Pasadena evolved. The past should never be forgotten — but we live for future generations and that historic struggle reminds us we must continue to do the work needed to forge a more inclusive One Pasadena where happy New Years begin.
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